Short dresses.
Short dresses & skirts are undeniably comfortable. There’s a freeing sense to them, but at the same time you don’t want to be flashing anyone, so along comes the constant vag checking. Without even thinking about it, my hand is constantly hovering over my ass to make sure nothing is popping out. I guess I could just wear some pants, but a dress is just so much easier. You don’t have to be worried about WHAT MATCHES WHAT, blah blah blah.
Thinking on it again, I suppose someone catching a glimpse of panties is less damaging than the actual vag. It’s not really any different than seeing panties on shelves in stores, except for the fact that I’m wearing them. I’m sure in other countries they don’t care as much.
SPEAKING OF WHICH, I leave for Germany in..two days. AH! My laundry is going right now, I still need a wall charger for my ipod, and I need a pair of jeans. Shit.
Being an attention whore is tough work indeed.
The end of May always feels like summer.
The beginning of June feels even more like summer.
I have found this last month to be painstaking. Freedom is right beyond my fingertips, and it becomes increasingly awful to go through the same routine each day.
Finals have me in a frenzy,
My sleeping pattern is fucked up,
& petty relationship drama is puttin’ me down.
So, what am I doing to make up for it all?
I am making a note of being unconditionally ridiculous in whatever spare time I encounter.
I am taking advantage of the weather by slathering myself in ungodly amounts of sunblock,
wandering out in my backyard with a giant towel decorated (very subtly) with a giant orange tiger, lying down and then after what feels like hours, retreating back into the abode after five minutes.
I gather my friends together and galavant about with them to nowhere in particular at odd hours of the night, singing songs and unintentionally terrifying the neighborhood by creating monstrous shadows and crashing bikes into bushes.
I pick up objects whenever the urge arises, and drop things wherever I feel the need to.
I yell and scream and sing and dance, while simultaneously telling a story and fixing my hair.
All the while, I still know, subconciously, that my behavior is anxiety driven. It is driven by the fact that I want to be rid of the anxiety, and am trying my own home-concocted methods of kicking it. In the moment it seems to do the trick, but then, after my adrenaline rush diminishes, there is nothing left but a spaced out shell of Ali.
This post-rush version of myself generally confuses most people. I mean, not me specifically, just the fact that I went from WAY up, to WAY down. I will try meditating before social situations to avoid becoming a snail. In some ways, I don’t want to change. But, for the people I loves’ sake, I’ll at least try.
ALSO: Today I had my bio final, and a physical.
BIO FINAL: I am guessing 75%.
PHYSICAL: Fuck “pap smears”. They could at least call it something less gruesome.
ALSO ALSO:
I am getting my hair cut short. For sure. Do not let me talk myself out of this.
Eat ‘em all up.
I don’t know what’s right, or what’s wrong.
At this moment, there is no difference between the two.
I can’t help but wonder what I want.
Or, what I need, rather.
What does anyone really need?
I feel as if I’ve dabbled too long in my attempts with an organized body of people I have nothing in common with, and never will.
I need to de-materialize.
I just wish I had enough balls to do it.
Here I am, in my new sweater from american apparel. It hasn’t been washed yet, and I am most likely absorbing its chemicals through my pores. This will help attribute to my eventual early death.
It’s inevitable.
