Fun

With every traumatic event I experience, I level up and become more poetic. I also dress more and more like The Nanny.

I didn’t think I’d have to break out the floral stockings this early into September, but it rained on the first day of classes, and I didn’t want to shiver, and after all, it’s kind of fun being over-the-top.

All summer long, I wanted to make a zine, but for so many reasons, I didn’t... until the second-to-last day, when I suddenly had the idea to make a little minizine. That night into the next morning, I cut and paste away at it, and now it’s done.

I didn’t miss school at all, but it’s back, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve already noticed how I’ve changed. I’m not holding back as much. After all I’ve been through, I don’t care how silly I sometimes worry about coming across. (And that’s basically what my zine is about, too.) I’m tired of putting myself down.

My professor asked us to freewrite on what “fun” feels like for us, and I thought about my boyfriend, and wrote this:

Time makes no sense, time is 9 in the morning becoming 4, and the world is dark and dreary, but the porchlight on your smile, but the grin you hate and its pretty dimples and cheekbones, but the way you’re holding me tell me that time is of no consequence – there is simply nothing serious at all in this world, save my feelings for you.