Small memoir

Today I was
late. Wore my sister's sundress over a funny slip under a big sweater
A middle-aged man with a beer belly told me from his SUV that he loooves me
I thought that was too boring to get angry about.
I was late. I drank tea
that smells smoky as phoenix feathers might
sitting inside my layers and behind my sunglasses, watching the ocean,
watching small children ramble around the ruined baths with their daycare leaders.
Today I spoke to one of my contessorates for more than sixty minutes but fewer than sixty-five
I shipped a used textbook to a military base in Europe, and let-me-tell-you-it-was-not-worth-the-paperwork

I had a revelation. And I'm hungry to make it clear on paper, and I'm working on the project called Space Diary, and I'm listening to music with the headphone jack tugged halfway out, which makes for an appealingly uneven, underwater sort of sound when paired with a piano. Bought a cheap 35mm SLR. And I am very serious and very intent, even though I feel like I laugh at everything. Laughter too is serious. It's all serious. Almost none of it is, none of it is. Stop laughing.