Feeds:after Ash Wednesday
- Conveying: Wellness
- When Praying: All those striving in their devotions this Lent
I just had one of those cool, random experiences. I had been excercising in the lounge because Alice was asleep in the main room, and I was on my way to bed - though the kitchen, por supuesto. Just after I close the pantry door, I hear a shuffling, as of slippers of carpet, outside. So I open the door and find a girl, one I recognise from around campus, trying vaguely to open the door across the niche.
"That door doesn't lead anywhere."
This girl was blonde, well-enough shaped but not my type. Turns out, her name is Hilary. She's got a Southern accent of the type that is what one thinks of when one thinks Southern belle, and the mannerisms to match. She was wearing a night-robe and was, if I amnot mistaken, more than slightly tipsy. Maybe she was just tired, but it IS bar night and she was talking pretty silly. She said that she thought I lived on the seventh floor. I pointed out that this was the seventh floor. She said she meant the fifth floor. I say, nope, the seventh. She says always though I lived with Mike and Eric. I explain that, as facts would haveit, they, too, live on the seventh floor - in the very room we were in the back doorway of. We exchange parting pleasantries and she wobbles off to the elevators.
All in all, a good time. But man, that accent.... I never knew -or maybe I forgot- the way an accent like that could make me feel like melting. Of course, it wasn't just the accent. There was the way she offered her hand when she introduced herself as well.... Ay. I need to sober up (ha, ha) and not think about girls so much. If I could only remember how I managed in high school.... did I manage in high school? I really wish I had my memory in good working order. I almost feel like I'm in Everything Jake, especially since I just read the part where Jake cuts his hair earlier today. Except, of course, I'm not getting high, drunk, or laid. Or attacked by robots/trans-dimensional travelers/pissed-off future ex-girlfriends. All of which is good. I would like a pair of those kickin' shades, though.
Hmm, I hadn't meant to link to any comics. Ever. Except the really good ones like Youthtopia.
More and more, I want to just melt for/because of a girl. Some are beautiful -ok, they're all beautiful, but in different ways. Sometimes it's not physical beauty at all, but sometimes.... sometimes it's the perfect curve of a lip, or a shoulder. Sometimes it's a perfect shade of skin. Sometimes, it's the sheer femininity of a nose or a belly or a neck. And I can see myself, melting. I don't, but I also do. My eyes go glassy and my mouth hangs comfortable open as I slide down and apart like wax next to a fire. None of that happens, of course. Maybe the mouth hanging open. Blame double life. Blame double though. It's more disconcerting now that there's no one else in there to check up on it for me. Hmmm....
Amanda told me that she shouldn't come see me, because now she's open again, and because I still love her. Because of this, if were together, I would want to kiss her.
She's right, of course. But it won't happen. She's not going to get involved with anybody for two months or so, which is, in my opinion, a good idea. Even after that, though, I doubt anything could happen. There's always the distance. And the act that she'll always be upset about the drinking. I've given up drinking until I'm of legal age, but I don't think that's enough to her. Would I be willing to sacrifice it for her? Yes. But not emptily. Even now, I can't see the appeal of getting drunk, but a good drink can be nice - not that I'll be having one anytime soon.
Aaron swore to get me a woman. Then he found out I'd already been on some dates. He seemed surprised. Not that I don't still want his help - matchmakers have done me good in the past. Then again, this IS Aaron we're speaking of....
I guess I'll end by quoting Terminator II.
"I sense injuries. The data could be interprited as pain."
Hmm. It sound so much better with the accent.
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