Culver’s makes my stomach hurt
“Potts!” he called over loud music, and I turned to see him pushing through all the people, raising his drink above crowd to keep it from spilling. “You got a date to formal yet?”
I can’t tell why I’m jealous.
“No,” I replied. “Why?”
I don’t want to be you and have never wanted to be you, but here I am.
“Just wondering,” he responded with a small smile as his girlfriend revealed herself from the mass of sweat and vodka and perfume. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the heat and her vape, which was tucked safely between her perfect boobs.
It would sink in all liquids, filling any container with dread.
She quickly took his hand, weaving their fingers together out of habit. I watched his ring finger rest upon hers.
It was too much PDA, and it made my temples push together, desperate to kiss in the middle of my brain. My head throbbed.
Yet I’m competitive and mean in my head, and I think we both know it’s partly cause you’re jealous, too.
“Can we go to Culver’s now? I’m way too drunk for this many people. And it’s damn hot in here.” she moaned as she pulled him away from me and toward the door.
I watched his hand tighten around hers. I said my awkward goodbye as his thumb stroked the top of her soft hand, stained with self-tanner.
Jealousy fuels jealousy. That is what I’ve learned.
An “A” and some tea
I do not mean to stereotype when I write this, and do not hear me making assumptions that are not backed up by experience. But I find myself… interested by the differences between my majors and almost frustrated that I don’t understand the relationship between the two.
Not just the content. Obviously English majors rarely worry about debits and credits, and the Business majors are not often passionate about Ophelia’s relationship to flowers.
I fill you with warm tea, and I like you because you’re pretty.
But the way my jaw hit the floor when this random boy in my English class basically called my stupid? I can’t describe my shock. I can’t forget my silence after the fact.
You, with your gold rim and color.
“What grade did you get?” he asked me, leaning close to me as he tried to read the ink on my paper.
“Ummm…” I didn’t like the question. “An A.”
“Really?” His shock was apparent and already offending. “That’s crazy, seeing how you’re a Business major, too.”
You look expensive, and I hate that I love to appear expensive.
I’m sorry. What? What does that even mean??? How can you assume my intelligence from a major you are not even part of? How can you look me in the eye and tell me — a stranger — that you are shocked by my success.
And this is not the first time. Several have been almost downright disgusted by the fact that I also am a business school student. On the first day of fall semester, one girl told the class, “I’ve never met an interesting business major” right before we were instructed to go around and say our name and major(S). How did I follow that?
With: “Hi, I’m Caroline, and I am an English and Business major with a minor in music. One of my greatest flaws is that Im not interesting at all.” (I didn’t say that last sentence, obviously… cause that would’ve been INTERESTING.)
When in use, you are hot to my touch, yet you cool down soon enough.
I didn’t think anyone would ever even care about my other studies. I never considered that While my business major is something to be proud of in one building, it has a horribly negative connotation in another. I never considered that until I was knee-deep in Mary Shelley assignments.
And I feel bad — there must be a reason they hate the business so much. And I see why business majors look dumb to outsiders, but most of them are not. They are creative and analytical thinkers, much like English majors.
Just so I can have the satisfaction of writing this: I am not stupid, lazy, and uninteresting. I am not somehow worse at reading and writing because of my passion for management, leadership, and marketing. And I should not take blanket statements about my academic interests to heart, whether they be about my Business major or my English major.
Okay, crash out over.
Thank you for such a fun treat at the end of the night. Always offering something to look forward to.
Bird flu
I was so sick last week, and I’m not sure I’ve ever been sicker in my whole life. Everything hurt: my head from the snot, my chest from my heart beating too rapidly, my stomach from the lack of nutritious food, the tailbone I had bruised back in 2016 from laying down too long.
My bed was too high… so much taller than the one I have at home, and I missed it so much when it hurt to move. Now — even as I’m perfectly healthy — I still want to sleep upon it in my dark, cold room back home.
I don’t know the name of the bird, but there is this specific bird song that sometimes sings outside my window. It is the sound of my childhood.
The bathroom was too far from my room those couple days, too. I can’t stand my dorm sometimes… how the bathroom is a trek through public hallways, only to find piss and… other bodily fluids on those dirty floors.
In the middle of the night, I stumbled through the hallway with no bra, genuinely looking like I had come back from death to haunt Hawkeyes, and I locked eyes with Makenzie.
Makenzie is the prettiest, sweetest girl I have ever met. There are no pimples on her cheeks, no frizzy, short hair framing her perfectly symmetrical face, no pudgy belly. It would piss me off if I didn’t like her so much, but she is too friendly and kind to be mad at.
When I was little and woke up early in the summers, I sometimes sat outside on the deck and read. And that was when I really noticed those birds.
“Hi!” she called, waving enthusiastically to me. She was wearing going-out clothes. Her hair and makeup looked like she had already braved the Iowa weather and party scene.
“Hi. You look so pretty,” I croaked.
“You too, girl!”
I stared blankly at her for a second before smoothing down my frizzy hair. If we’re being honest here, I was not lookin’ good in that moment. I was pale and unshowered. I was too sick to stand up straight.
You are too nice, I thought as we stumbled away from each other, one drunk and the other feverish.
I always liked the songs, but I never appreciated them until they became nostalgic.
I quickly peed, anxious to get back to my bed. My phone was ringing by the time I opened my dorm door. It was too loud — my brain banged against my skull as I grabbed it from my desk.
The screen was too bright. It hurt my eyes so bad. But I stared at it, anyway. It was a damn spam call — all that movement for nothing.
Now, I want to cry when I hear those birds. They remind me of such happy, carefree days.
I pulled myself back into bed and stared at the ceiling, suddenly wanting to cry. It was so weird… it just came over me, which made it all the more painful I think?
My body was too tired to continue doing anything else but sleep, so I turned over and curled myself into a mid-sized, ill, disgusting ball.
Such joyful, peaceful songs, not worthy crying about at all.
Considering a new apartment and a black cat
I fly a moderate amount, and I am comfortable with being uncomfortable at this point. But nothing infuriates me more than when the seat in front of me gets selfishly lowered.
Ugh. Like genuinely boils my blood. Fills me with choking rage. Causes me to crash out thousands of miles above the Atlantic Ocean.
I really want a cat.
It was an uncomfortable nine hours, but what do you do? There’s nowhere to go and no one to talk to. Above me, reading lights kept turning off as people realized they picked the wrong book to bring on vacation.
A fluffy one I think. A black one, maybe? Like the ones in Halloween decorations?
I need to learn how to not be bothered by this. Because I’m hopeful that there will be many flights in my future… flights back to a little apartment in some big city, overflowing with promise and excitement, simply waiting for me to explore its streets.
With a silky coat and a pretty, innocent face.
While my parents would be on my doorstep without a thought, not everyone I love has the capability to visit me in some distant place. But that doesn’t hurt my feelings.
Just like lowering my plane seat into the lap of the passenger behind me, it would be selfish to be offended or hurt by the fact that someone can’t fly across the world to see you. That’s a lot to ask.
I didn’t always like cats. Yet I want you, small enough to curl on my lap, but enough to keep me company.
In fact, I almost feel bad that I will be out of reach of some family members. That’s not my intention, but it could very well happen.
I like that you wouldn’t care if I was busy, which I fully intend to be.
When encouraging life in the Midwest, one loved on said: “I’ll be able to visit you! Especially when you get lonely.”
But would you visit me, even if I did? Would you brave the Chicago traffic, the long drive through Iowa, the Michigan cold?
Maybe an old cat… might be nice to rescue one from loneliness. After all, that’s what it would do for me.
Context
I was reading through my journal and found a bunch of itty-bitty correlations between entries. Similar items, emotions, and words made my memories start to feel like a scavenger hunt… where and when would I be led to next?
Some entries had been written weeks apart while others were from years ago. Yet the relationship between my strange, mundane, silly stories was obvious and got me thinking… why not combine past and present as well as:
- A party and some jealousy
- Academic validation and my favorite mug
- A fever and nostalgic bird songs
- A black cat (or at least the consideration of one) and traveling?
Lasting thoughts
This whole experiment made me feel like I was patching up a broken mirror — putting one jagged piece next to the other to create a wider reflection of myself and my surroundings.
Journaling is one healthy habit but reading your thoughts back? Seeing the connections? That allows you to hold yourself accountable to your habits — your thoughts, words, actions. Because I allowed myself to be a spectator of my own life, I saw situations in a new, inspiring light.
My advice?
- Journal — write those memories and feelings down.
- Read — reflect on past entries.
- Connect — make connections about your thoughts, feelings, memories, and habits. Use that to make yourself happier.
