Polaroids-9/19 to present: Where I Lay My Head

Shitfaced

I walked down the broken stairs in a buzzed and bubbly haze. Everything and everyone was beautiful, even the cushionless couch on the first floor. So uncomfortable, but so necessary at the same time. My headache grew, and so did my grin. I smiled at everyone. What a mistake. As I was making my way down the stairs, I made the mistake of waving to a girl with a nose ring. She returned the gaze for a second too long, and I averted my heavy eyes to the spotted nape of the girl in front of me. I felt a slight tap on my shoulder. Swiveled my head slowly behind, slightly wincing for some reason unbeknownst to me. "Wait," she said, "weren't you so-and-so's girlfriend?" Her eyes no longer were luminescent, they were stones. Everything lost its sparkle.

Of course, I answered without thinking. "Yes!" I exclaimed.

Her smile faded as quickly as my buzz did. "Oh," she sneered, "I'm one of his best friends."

Oh, fuck.

In a moment's time, that couch grew larger and larger and I smaller and smaller (was I Lilliputian?) I wanted to hide my face in it. Shit. The girl in front of me was moving at a sloth's pace. I almost thrust myself down the spiral staircase. I figured I'd be killing two birds with one stone, or however that saying goes. I'd break my neck, which would please my frenemy, but I'd also be out of that dilapidated hellhole ASAP. Succumbing to my ego, I gulped, stuck out my hand and said, "Well, nice to meet you!"

Swallowing pride is hard to do, apparently. Went home and made friends with my reflection in the toilet for a few hours. It was hard to make myself out through all of the shit floating in it, though. I don't really know what all was in there, but I guess I'm full of it.

The Laptop

Next day, I had to go home. My body seems to be physiologically incapable of feigning kindness, and punished me via toilet torture. I was awake perhaps 6 hours on Monday. My mother offered me her lap on which to rest my head; I opted for the laptop. Tender 98. 6 degree thigh, or electronic warmth that will most likely give me brain cancer with its radiowaves? Let's go with the latter. And to think, I was pissy with my mother that afternoon because my headache didn't go away. What a cold little shit. Given a choice, I choose what doesn't give back--typical.

While I was awake, I was inundated with advertisements concerning cellulite, wrinkles, and stretchmarks (thanks, God), soon to be followed by McDonald's commercials. You know the end is nigh when even Mother Nature needs lipo. Trim the fat, you know. But I thought that's what capitalism was for? Turns out we're all just pigs who eat pigs.


"Be the change you wish to see in the world." Yeah, whatever.

I felt like being friendly today. We were discussing Gandhi in class, what can I say. A few seats to my left sat a thin and rather insect-like boy, resting his emaciated frame on the table. The professor left us for group discussion, and allowed us to choose our groups. Decided to extend a warm and ink stained hand to a stranger. I had to ask twice, but no big deal. He scoots closer to me and my impromptu group, and I think all is good. He feels like "part" of something, it's the first step!

So we discuss peace and violence, and how Gandhi felt that while violence may appear good in the moment, it's disastrous, and well, worse, in the long run. It's all about the satyagraha, baby. In a casual glance, I noticed was wearing a Radiohead shirt; I figured he was pretty informed of world affairs, and either libertarian or a crazy liberal. I wanted him to open up, so I compared that to the war in Iraq. It was relevant, and hell, it wasn't boring. I looked over to him, and his head was resting on the desk. Again. So I poked. Whatdoyouthink! I asked. He asked what we were discussing. Still optimistic (though waning), I repeated the question. Another girl gave her take. I looked back over to him. He was picking at his wart.

Some people are alone for a reason.