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 |  My first ever Writing.com journal. |
| i couldn't find my keys, so i used my brand new white sandals to prop the side door open while i walked the trash out to the dumpster, a barefoot journey of (maybe) twenty-five seconds. when i got back, someone had spilled cold chili all over both of them, and vanished. the genius jeopardy contestants had an excessively hard time with the before and after category. one clue, for instance, was "dick grayson's mentor/'danke shoen' singer." um. bruce wayne newton, obviously. but instead of standing behind a podium, where i would have certainly won (i always tally my score), i was writing the second of three british literature papers, at my desk. miserably. as of tomorrow, my roommate will not have been to class in exactly three months. rightfully, she no longer belongs in this room, taking up my floor space, breathing my air, clogging up the aural sphere with all her puerile snorts and wheezes. but she's back. she's here. she's noisy, and she won't let me turn my tv up past the one-quarter mark, and we are fighting, and "it's her room too," even though she hasn't been to class in months, and i'm busting my ass trying to finish everything before the end of the semester. sean's life is great, right now. his car is fixed. the court dropped his walmart restitution fees. treesje has announced that they're going to be together forever, et cetera. up next: sean's tremendous lottery win. probably, i mean. life isn't fair. |
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