June 2, 2003
Moth Monster Man
So begins the clumsy ballet of phone calls. The indistinguishable Mozart-esque hold music. The transferring from befuddled counselor to befuddled counselor. The long silences wherein I can almost hear them cursing me in their minds, while I feel like violently, vocally doing so.
That's right. It's Financial Aid Season again. Where's my rifle?
This year may not be quite the mess that last year was, considering I've gotten a head start in my hunting. I've set a few good traps, and a few more mediocre ones, and, if worse comes to worse, I have a few snappy comebacks should I find myself looking down the barrel of the proverbial Loan Denial Gun.
Fuckers.
I'm wearing my new black velvet Amelie inspired jacket today, courtesy of the odd weather we are having. I feel as though it should already be July and disgusting because I've been out of school for so long, but before I know it it will be and then I'll refuse to leave the house.
I just like clothes, you see. I don't want to wear tank tops and shorts and flip flops. I like covering up most of my body in breezy, billowy shirts and knee length skirts or bell bottoms. I like heavy shoes, and wearing my hair down instead of up in a sweaty ponytail.
I hate sweating.
I do like swimming, though, much as I am loathe to don a bathing suit. I just feel so very naked and presumptuous, flauting my pale skin in some crazed floral print bikini. Sure, you could say I'm thin. But there's this thing called confidence that I find quite elusive...
There are so many little luxuries to my life that I hope I never take for granted. It is no longer novelty to wake up next to Mike nearly every morning, but I still love to look on his sleeping form, scratch his back until he rolls over and curls around me, spreading his warmth over my body.
I still love to look at him.
astera at 10:36 a.m.