Sock Drawer

As an ant makes his long trek across the screen of my laptop, in search of his own Elysian Fields, I sit in sun and nail polish fumes to ponder the meaning of my existence. Well, at least the meaning of the following three weeks of existence until I go on vacation. Having gone through that epilogue of the school year that is finals week, I celebrate my first day of freedom with several episodes of Doctor Who and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. What shall I do with myself during the remnants of this day?

I've watched so much British television lately that I've started unintentionally and unexpectedly thinking in a British accent (sometimes it's English, sometimes it's Scottish). Do you know what's fun? Going to the mall and talking to everyone in an accent. Or going to Starbucks and giving a different name that isn't your real one. Of course, the only one in on the joke is you but that's what makes it more thrilling I think.

During my preteen and early teen years I used to be a bit of a tomboy. I just wanted to live in jeans and t-shirts all day (and night). I'm sure Past Me would be shocked to meet Present Me, dressed in the frilliest and daintiest of skirts and dresses all day everyday. Sometimes I surprise myself when I find myself cooing over anything pink and frothy. Is this growing up, realizing my femininity? I need to find a huge billowing, swishy, circle skirt to go dancing in this Friday.