I hope these visitors showing up in my site stats are anonymous.

by kkmeow

This morning at nine o’clock I had that shameful realization that it was tomorrow, and a subsequent even more shameful realization that I still didn’t have anything remotely close to the rough draft I needed to turn in by two forty five pm, and a subsubsequent triple shame stab to the heart type of realization that I still had hours of work to do on another paper, a final submission due by ten am tomorrow.  All my thoughts were fragmented, but no matching fragments. They just slugged on my gray lobes for long enough to tickle, dissolved in slow and frantic oxidation. Suddenly, I’d been deliberating over what to wear for two hours. I saw sweaters and leggings and camisoles strewn all over my room but I had lost my recollection.

I was dizzy. I remembered hearing stomach growling noises beneath the keyboard clicks in the study room some time ago and thought about how I still hadn’t looked in the mirror and got scared. Not of being ugly. The night is a thief if you watch her, she sucks you right out of the shell and maybe that is what all the oxidation was about. I finally looked. I don’t remember having such a squared jaw so I rubbed the bone knots on each end, right before the little tundra that ducks beneath my ear lobes. These knots seem to be progressing downward, or out. I am not sure if bones even have knots, but maybe these are just the rounded ends and mine stick out the wrong way.

I changed sweaters one more time and I shouldn’t have. When leaned to the floor to pick it up, my other hand wandered to the ambiguous neck/spinal cord region between my shoulders. I used to walk around with one arm raised above and bent at the elbow to trace the bumps and count them. I loved feeling things inside of me making their way out. I wanted to a little marrow to seep through. Now I hate it, I promise. They make me feel like a dinosaur, the kind with the triangular sails running from his head down the back and lining his tail. I dinosaured to the college cafeteria. The shaky glasses lady was scanning student IDs. She is never really shaking but it seems like she should be, and I like her but mainly just because she is always very warm and friendly toward me even though I know that she extends the same gesture the other dozen students that come to the caf alone. I prefer Miss Priscilla really, she is nice to me just because it came out that way. She has very bleached hair and wears dark brown eyeshadow below her eyes as well as on the lids, just like I had a few years back until a stranger accused me of imitating raccoons. I figured they were probably correct.

I don’t mind eating alone, in fact I prefer it, but the atmosphere in this cafeteria is nauseating. Ever since winter of my sophomore year when the college installed a flat screen, I cannot go for a meal without imagining that this is actually 93 years from now and everyone lives in post apocalyptic human sized hamster wheels and watches Americas Funniest Home Videos. I made a salad and put mandarin oranges on it because I always did my freshman year, and they took them away for a while so I never ate them again, but I wanted to remember the taste of pre apocolyptic nightmarish dining.