Junk in my Trunk

I can’t go to bed tonight without writing something.
For months, I have been hankering to get rid of my belongings.
I have clothes that could be fun to goof around in, but I won’t need them for a job or any social function.
There’s that whole deal with wanting to keep something because it will come to use. Everyone knows about that. Like the fuchsia exercise shorts I gave to Good Will last summer. I saw a picture of them and thought, “I’d love to run in those right now.” But who cares? I have other shorts I can run in, and I can find mental variety rather than variety in the clothes I wear.
At some point, I’ll move to an apartment, and I won’t want it to be filled “from the crown to the toe top-full” (Shakespeare’s Macbeth, Act I, Scene V).
I’ll write more on this later! I just needed to write something.

"Ain't nobody dope as me. I'm just so fresh so clean."

The fuchsia shorts–last seen on June 14, 2010.

There are things I gotta say alone

Something I miss about Prin:
CONVERSATIONS.
I can still have conversations, but I have to do a lot more work to make them happen–text, write, call. I miss floating around campus and getting swept up in billions of conversations a day.
The conversations I have at work
AREN’T REAL CONVERSATIONS.



Wry and Notes getting ready in the dressing room for our performance of William Inge's Summer Brave. November, 2009

I don’t recall
ever graduating at all.
Sometimes I feel
I’m just a disappointment to y’all.
Every day I just lay around, then I can’t be found.