Thursday, October 06, 2005

And would you call me the Duchess of Fidget, if I asked nicely?

There are no stories here, not really; just the things tacked up on my internal bulletin board- the notes that say, "LOOK!" and the hastily-ripped Marc Jacobs ad campaigns of doleful eyes and violent plaids. "LOOK LOOK LOOK," says the bulletin board, like the sign for the Velvet Touch on 131. When driving past with my parents I pretend not to notice.
Look, Jenny and I used to jump off the swingset. We'd add in twists and whoops and flailings of appendage to spice up the four-foot journey. If we started with shoes we'd kick them off in the direction of the patio, getting dirt on our pale-purple nailpolish. I know this is true because I found the pictures we took in the cabinet above the telephone; disposable, blurry, doubles. I remember feeling very grown-up.
Have you heard that story before? I repeat the important things so that I won't forget. I repeat the important things so that I won't forget. Look, I haven't done this in ages. Years. I am sixteen.
Look! here you are.