A First Snow Free Write.

25 10 2012

One splotch of nail polish left on one nail, all the others are bare, stained yellow from colors prior, the shapes all rounded and jagged and square. Nothing matches. Nothing is uniform. The room is littered with a hodgepodge of fall and winter attire, costumes and coats, socks curled into themselves like delicate rotting flowers. There is no way around it. When it’s here it’s here and there is no going back to a warmer time. One starts to wonder if there ever was a warmer time. Was it possible that I did sweat due to the sun that now seems impossible to find? Was there really a time when I needed an industrial strength fan? Is it strange that people here drive much better in the snow than in the rain? As if one form of water is more tolerable to them than another. It was never my intention to stay here long, but no other place is tempting me more. I don’t really know what that means. When I was a kid I don’t remember what I wanted to my future career to be, except once in 6th grade my friend J and I decided then and there that we should steal the red corvette in the parking lot, head to California and become actresses. Now, that was a dream. In my dreams last night I was playing volleyball; the men on my team where being rather sexist and I remember wanting to spike the ball in their faces instead of over the net—our team did not win. It’s funny how we have a calendar that tells us when the seasons change, when we can just look out the window and tell what time of year it is. I wish I had a calendar that would tell me what kind of mood I was going to be in that day, because I think that would prevent a lot of problems. I’ve almost picked all the paint off the nail. Then what, I just paint them again? Such is this cycle. But what color represents this new season, this new mood?



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