The Battlefield Where the Girls Say I Love You



That's just the thing: we will never tell you we love you. In fact, we're here only to hold hands across state lines and yell at the world. We're here to try to touch you across this chasm of flown things. Not even that. At most, I will teach you how to make a gin smoothie when there's nothing left in the house. Hannah can teach you several languages and what to do when your car breaks up with you. Thanks for coming out.

Monday, August 27, 2007

s-e-n-t-a-n-c-e

that's how you spelled it Mamie. for your students. on the board.

meanwhile, in the creative writing office (where i am the frat kid who will never leave--someone called me a fixture a bit ago), i am frantically prepping--i.e. looking up 'personal narrative essay' on google. there's 20 mins to class and i'm freaking and dug (that's how he spells it) bourne is sitting there telling me about some frog that hibernates underground in the winter, how it freezes, even its brain. i'm going uh-huh, totally, yup. until he says, i'm going to get one and keep it in my freezer when i'm on vacation. me: .... dug goes, 'you know, in a container.'

3 comments:

JaySlacks said...

You weren't that frantic. I witness frantic all the time. Personal Narrative: Narratives that are personal. Done and Done. Next, please.

sallylynn said...

i might need the name of the frog.

for scrabble.

hannah said...

sorry sal, but it's wood frogs. two words, so is no good for scrabble.

but how was your first day? tried to call--it went click click click. 10 days and counting. xoxo, h