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Reading:
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Tuesday, November 9th, 2004In class yesterday, during a discussion on childhood traumas (the fictional Pip's, not, thankfully, my own), I chanced to look out the window and see, to my dismay, an abundance of snow falling. Gadzooks! I thought. This is horrible! I'm wearing a flimsy corduroy jacket and sneakers! This scarf I am wearing is only for show! I am not dressed warmly enough for snow! Curse this cold country, and curse its foul weather! But then we got out of class, and the snow had stopped, and the sun came out and melted any evidence of winter, and I smiled and bought myself a small chocolate milk. The end. Except not the end, because today happened, and it was also cold. Not too cold, though, but cold enough that my teeth chattered a little bit. And if only I had not just had to read about Harry Gill, I might think this was all okay. I'm not a character in a poem, so I'm probably going to be fine. None of yous should write a poem about me, though. |
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