Anyway, it all came to a head this morning, when I woke up and couldn't find anything to wear that would keep me warm and wasn't dirty or else musty from sitting in a damp pile after being out in all the rain we've been having. By the time I left, I had settled on black stockings under jean shorts, Keds with dried mud on them, and a pink sweatshirt that my friend Dan once told me was the color of a cartoon pig. The stockings had runs in them, but I had no time to find something different to wear--so, that's how I ended up walking the campus looking like a ten-cent hooker. From the 90s.
|Not quite me, but close.|
Vogue Nippon, Via Fashionising
Something had to be done.
After I had lunch with my friend Kelsey, she came with me to the library to offer moral support, where the young fellow behind the desk checked my records and said, "Whoa! That's a lot of fines." I left the building fifty bucks (!) poorer, but with a new sense of accomplishment. I had survived the dreaded experience, and I could do more than that. I walked the couple blocks to the drugstore still in my ratty stockings, where I stocked up on things like contact solution and glitter glue. And socks, naturally. I didn't even mind the looks I got from the townies as I passed. When I reached my dorm, I got a call from the friend from California I've been meaning to get in touch with, and after we hung up, I packed up my mound of dirty laundry and hauled it down to the basement to wash it. Then I leaned back in my chair to watch the episodes I'd missed of "The Office" and bask in my newfound feeling of distinct grown-uppishness.
I am capable! I told myself smugly. I have skills! I don't have to wear ripped stockings every day (no-no-no-no-no)!
Now if I could only motivate myself to do some homework.