September 25, 2003
Red #5
I think that the olfactory sense is my most favourite. There is nothing like a familiar but rare smell to launch me into memory, to bid close my eyes and erase the present moment in favour of one past.
This morning I showered (contrary to popular belief, I do so everyday), and the scent of my new conditioner swelled into an intoxicating cloud of memory. I was suddenly back in high school, at home, ready to slip into my MXPX baseball shirt and my sixteen year old ideals. I was a real person then, too, but it does not seem at all so now.
The changes that can take place even within the space of a year amaze me. I do not have experiences, not real ones, at any rate. I explore the world from the safety of my computer, I restrict curiousity to my pen. What, then, precipitates this personal growth? I am not even sure of Jillian last week, let alone a one, two, three years ago.
Mike sent me an Aqualung song in my email. He can't be bothered to call me, but he still shares his music. Strange and Beautiful. Mike promised to put a spell on me, too. I am already in love with him. I fear that a strip tease is somehow to be magically coerced from me...
Thursday is the longest day of the week,, at least after Tuesday has passed. Before me lies a riveting discussion concerning the last act of Othello in English 298, a quick lunch managed in Choraliers practice, and more mind-numbing validation of Aphra Behn's Oroonoko in British Women Writers. Come on. It's trash. Everyone knows it.
Even you.
I think I am going to go find something to sniff, now, in hopes of making worthwhile this, my only hour of freedom.
astera at 11:04 a.m.