Golden

Thursday morning, I do dishes, return cans, fold laundry, put loads in, do my sci-fi homework, get complimented by 3 people in the street for my hair. I hit Latham's class and give him the stupid "Writers of the Purple Sage" postcard I found, a bad pun off a Philip Jose Farmer sci-fi story, and he loved it. I checked my messages- Louis saying not only had I gotten my food column, complete with all my wishes (that I have editorial control, that I be reimbursed, that I be a freelance columnist rather than a grunt reporter) I was on for the additional summer project. More work. More money.

I went up to the nonfiction offices to wait for Annie, but John D'Agata found me and said Annie had already gone. He teased me, hugged me. "I know you may have taken too many classes with me, but my twelve person graduate workshop--" "I thought you said yesterday you couldn't let undergraduates into that?" "I can do what I fucking want, it's my class. You'd be intimidated at first, because you'd be the only undergrad, but you'll get over it. I'm holding the spot for you. Let me know within a week." I got outside before screaming "Yes!" to the parking lot.

I found Annie and headed over to the girl's house, where we chilled and I read the play Proof in one clean sitting, it was so enjoyable. Therese came home and she, Annie and I went to hy-vee, where I found Vermonty Python Ben and Jerry's, complete with fudge cows, and cheese cubes on sale. We ate these in a tree on the pentacrest, and then I ran to Medieval Issues: Sexuality. "Did you hear what happened last class?" my friend asks. "The opposing debate side said they were so glad you weren't there today!" I am flattered stupid. Class is enjoyable, and I run home to change for the Undergraduate Poetry Workshop Mill Booze-Up. There's a big brass band that's really decent, upwards of 15 members crammed onto the back stage.

Connor buys me a white russian and proceeds to talk to me the entire night. "I saw you in our Chinese lecture last year, and coming out of the Bijou from a film, I think about the Khmer Rouge." Kinzy, drunk and funny in the background, is talking to people about how Khmer Rouge should be a lipstick color. "How can you remember that? It was such a big lecture, and so long ago!" Connor blushes in the half-light. "I have a good memory for these things." There is such an intimacy to being known that it embarrasses me, but flatters me when people remember my presence, my specifics. Super-cool Connor, of the Tim Burton hair and the excellent beyond excellence poetry and-- and-- Connor the novel-character, Connor the beyond real. "Do you like Hardy? Do you think Twain influences your work? I feel like you write sci-fi." "I don't drink, my mom's lesbian, I am reading this and that and." He doesn't ask my number, but he lives next door to Corey and he sees me there all the time anyway, and it's a pity he's graduating. He's too old for me, too cool, too real-relationship when I'd rather fuck around and not get hurt and have some fun right now. But it was a great night, and he and Chris and Kinzy and I closed the bar.

I bring Kinzy home to be hilarious with Danny and Colin, and Jer and I have a conversation I am too drunk for but which is fun anyway. Today I do work and am good, go out to Cinco de Mayo dinner with Alyssa, Therese, Molly J and Meghan D, having listened to Hearts and Harps Afire: the soundtrack to the Xena Rock Opera, all the way there, write two restaurant reviews, find a hidden little Mexican grocery to write a review about and buy Mundet apple soda and Abuelita Hot Chocolate, both of which I've been missing for months, turn in my poetry packet, revise my nonfiction and finish, tripsit Ben and Colin. Earlier today, I even went into Spence and made the psych appointment I've been dodging. Corey and Molly E come over and I introduce Corey to Buffy finally and make shrooms plans and girl-night Meghan Donner plans for tomorrow. I wonder, should I make bananas foster or fried ice cream drizzled in honey, the kind my Chicana aunt used to make. This is mole, and you temper the chocolate. Enchiladas this way, tamales with the corn husks- I learned with patience, devotion. I love knowing, making, eating food. In the grocery store I talk to my mom about the job, the internship, Chicago, and she takes it well, and all the anxiety I've been itching at for weeks dissipates a little. Plans for after finals, with Jenna, Corey, Molly E, Frannie. Exquisitely good days!

Golden

Thursday morning, I do dishes, return cans, fold laundry, put loads in, do my sci-fi homework, get complimented by 3 people in the street for my hair. I hit Latham's class and give him the stupid "Writers of the Purple Sage" postcard I found, a bad pun off a Philip Jose Farmer sci-fi story, and he loved it. I checked my messages- Louis saying not only had I gotten my food column, complete with all my wishes (that I have editorial control, that I be reimbursed, that I be a freelance columnist rather than a grunt reporter) I was on for the additional summer project. More work. More money.

I went up to the nonfiction offices to wait for Annie, but John D'Agata found me and said Annie had already gone. He teased me, hugged me. "I know you may have taken too many classes with me, but my twelve person graduate workshop--" "I thought you said yesterday you couldn't let undergraduates into that?" "I can do what I fucking want, it's my class. You'd be intimidated at first, because you'd be the only undergrad, but you'll get over it. I'm holding the spot for you. Let me know within a week." I got outside before screaming "Yes!" to the parking lot.

I found Annie and headed over to the girl's house, where we chilled and I read the play Proof in one clean sitting, it was so enjoyable. Therese came home and she, Annie and I went to hy-vee, where I found Vermonty Python Ben and Jerry's, complete with fudge cows, and cheese cubes on sale. We ate these in a tree on the pentacrest, and then I ran to Medieval Issues: Sexuality. "Did you hear what happened last class?" my friend asks. "The opposing debate side said they were so glad you weren't there today!" I am flattered stupid. Class is enjoyable, and I run home to change for the Undergraduate Poetry Workshop Mill Booze-Up. There's a big brass band that's really decent, upwards of 15 members crammed onto the back stage.

Connor buys me a white russian and proceeds to talk to me the entire night. "I saw you in our Chinese lecture last year, and coming out of the Bijou from a film, I think about the Khmer Rouge." Kinzy, drunk and funny in the background, is talking to people about how Khmer Rouge should be a lipstick color. "How can you remember that? It was such a big lecture, and so long ago!" Connor blushes in the half-light. "I have a good memory for these things." There is such an intimacy to being known that it embarrasses me, but flatters me when people remember my presence, my specifics. Super-cool Connor, of the Tim Burton hair and the excellent beyond excellence poetry and-- and-- Connor the novel-character, Connor the beyond real. "Do you like Hardy? Do you think Twain influences your work? I feel like you write sci-fi." "I don't drink, my mom's lesbian, I am reading this and that and." He doesn't ask my number, but he lives next door to Corey and he sees me there all the time anyway, and it's a pity he's graduating. He's too old for me, too cool, too real-relationship when I'd rather fuck around and not get hurt and have some fun right now. But it was a great night, and he and Chris and Kinzy and I closed the bar.

I bring Kinzy home to be hilarious with Danny and Colin, and Jer and I have a conversation I am too drunk for but which is fun anyway. Today I do work and am good, go out to Cinco de Mayo dinner with Alyssa, Therese, Molly J and Meghan D, having listened to Hearts and Harps Afire: the soundtrack to the Xena Rock Opera, all the way there, write two restaurant reviews, find a hidden little Mexican grocery to write a review about and buy Mundet apple soda and Abuelita Hot Chocolate, both of which I've been missing for months, turn in my poetry packet, revise my nonfiction and finish, tripsit Ben and Colin. Earlier today, I even went into Spence and made the psych appointment I've been dodging. Corey and Molly E come over and I introduce Corey to Buffy finally and make shrooms plans and girl-night Meghan Donner plans for tomorrow. I wonder, should I make bananas foster or fried ice cream drizzled in honey, the kind my Chicana aunt used to make. This is mole, and you temper the chocolate. Enchiladas this way, tamales with the corn husks- I learned with patience, devotion. I love knowing, making, eating food. In the grocery store I talk to my mom about the job, the internship, Chicago, and she takes it well, and all the anxiety I've been itching at for weeks dissipates a little. Plans for after finals, with Jenna, Corey, Molly E, Frannie. Exquisitely good days!