Friday, April 27, 2012

As Kindhearted as a Goddam Wolf

One of the things I hate the most about myself is how sensitive I am. A couple of words from the right person have the power to, either, make me storm out of the room or cry. Or both. Sure I calm down soon afterwards, but that doesn’t take away the fact that I’ve made a big deal about stuff as silly as British Man collecting peakyrinds faster that I did at this online game we –er- make fun of while we discuss sex, drugs and the rest of really cool stuff we do. Yeah. He says I’m just being passionate, but after the peakyrinds marihuana anal sex, ok, peakyrinds incident of 2012 he’s not going into the suicide mission of asking me not to get my panties all in a bunch.

However, I have this objective in which the little strength that I’ve been given it’s going to be used - not on useless things as giving birth and such but - on acting as a champ whenever I get corrections for my Architectural Projects class.

For those who don’t know how it works, this class is about pretending you’re a graduated architect and someone is stupid enough to hire you for  a job. You’re given a project with a long list of requirements and restrictions which you have to follow if you want to pass the subject. Professors for these subjects are working architects who earn some extra money by spending a couple of hours a week checking on your progress and  telling you what a big loser you are and, if they are in an specifically bad mood, they might advice you to reconsider your career options.

Through all these years of being a student I’ve seen girls cry, guys get really angry and some people simply take on the advice and reconsider their profession to, finally, drop it. I think I can recall getting a bit offended the first time a teacher didn’t tell me what a special little snowflake I was. Nevertheless, now, I’m really cool with it. Me. Miss I-have-cried-not –only-when-Bambi’s-mother-dies,-but-every-time-I-remember-it. I’m cool with harsh criticism. Not regular cool. Marihuana-and-anal kind of cool.

Last Monday was the perfect example. A girl went first, she left the room as soon as she was done and came back 20 minute later with bloodshot eyes. The guy before me chickened out. The professor took the chance to remind us we are disappointing him, then he added “who’s next?” That was me. I approached him with the same spark of hope only a na├»ve rosy-cheeked teenager can carry before she gets sliced in two with a rusty ax.

He started with the regular “no, no, no… no” that always comes accompanied with him scratching  the blueprints I worked all weekend on, in which the only exercise and fresh air I got was when I stood up to open up the window. ‘I should move the location of the bathroom, and the kitchen, and the main bedroom, and the other rooms would look better on that other place. Keep the font. The font is nice’. While the common response for stupidity is an excuse or a weak defense I went for a “you’re right'”. Then he told me shapes must fulfill a purpose, I shouldn’t simply draw whatever comes out of my ass. I laughed, because if you’re lucky enough to have a professor who says ass so casually, you have to laugh.

I walked away, not before thanking him for ripping apart my soul and destroying my dreams (although, I omitted the soul and dreams shit); a guy asked me how it went, “could’ve been worse” answered Miss Grown-up-pants.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Trying to Feel Some Kind of Good-by

I kissed you good bye at the airport, I held you so close to me.
I said “So here we are now and I can't stop from crying”
And you said “Hey, you know I’ll be there before you know it; you’ll be brave for me when you get on that plane

The plane took off and I left him behind. Gravity pushed my whole body down and the man sitting next to me said “Everything is gonna be alright”
I said Nothing is gonna be alright, but thank you anywayand then I saw your face through the airplane window.
I waved my hands and I shouted to you:
”Tonight! I wanna be with you tonight” 

I wore a T-shirt and my worn out boots. Abandoned as a summer cat.
As I sit there as a broken hearted I realized I had something to distract myself with,
so I tried to get immerse in a book; I fell asleep on my seat, instead.
I dreamed of summer sex with you and you whispered in my ear:
”Tonight; I wanna be with you tonight”

Why couldn’t I leave tomorrow instead?

And above the clouds I said to myself:
”I can't believe how naive we are both being,
that’s why I go through all of this
and that’s why it might work out

Billie The Vision and The Dancers

Can I get arrested for murdering a song with my nonexistent writing skills?

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Me? Twenty-two.


“Are you anybody else’s missing piece?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Well, maybe you want to be your own piece?”
“I can be someone’s and still my own.”

— Shel Silverstein, The Missing Piece


P.S. Happy Birthday to me ♪