ghosts and lesbians

hello homosapiens!
It was another no shower day for me today! I'm becoming a regular pioneer. Soon I'll be churning butter and expecting a tin can in my stocking for Christmas. I read a lot of Laura Ingalls Wilder as a kid.
But no worries! I went on a run and showered, so I'm no longer a vagabond. Speaking of showering, though, I have a little anecdote for you:

I was in the shower at 5:30 am getting ready for 7:00 am breakfast last week. So there I was, mindin' my own business, wondering how to completely get all those scratchy little hairs off of my right armpit, when I heard a loud bang. I figured it was just a clumsy girl from my hall making a racket or something. But it didn't stop, it just went bang bang crash bang thud crash bang jangle jangle bang jangle thud. My college (if you're wondering, I haven't said the name of my college yet for the purpose of anonymity. Although it's kind of a moot point, because I suspect everyone who reads this blog is family/friends, so they already know where I am. Oh well, wishful thinking) has a lot of ghost stories surrounding it, so I was starting to get the heebie jeebies a little. You see, I went to The Conjuring this summer. By myself. My boyfriend had to stay up with me on the phone that night talking about Jesus until I fell asleep. But anyway, the mysterious noises continued, and I got out of the shower to find that it was an older woman, maybe in her forties or fifties, who, judging by the keys on her belt and the garbage bag in her hand, worked for the janitorial staff (woah, talk about a run-on sentence, amirite?) She didn't look at me, just made the loudest possible hullabaloo while doing her work at 5:30 in the morning. I wanted to say hello, but she was silent and pretended that I wasn't there. She really looked like she hated her job. I've called her "the ghost" in my head ever since. I still see her in the mornings, and she still hasn't said a word. She's still as noisy as ever too. It's only a matter of time before I wake up to find her replacing paper towels at the foot of my bed.

So there you go. My real-life Ghost Adventures experience.

SEAMLESS TRANSITION:

In my writing class, we were assigned to write a "ten-line poem rich with imagery." So I wrote a poem about snippets of how I see my future; now, I did put effort into the poem, but let's just say I didn't break my back trying to analyze the many nuances and implications of my word choices. And I'm not saying it was brilliant or anything. Here's the poem, for the purpose of the story:

I see bare feet on wooden floors

large ones, little ones, elegant and rough

I see curly ringlets, blonde and fraying and

running past me

I see falling asleep on our leather sofa

as lightning reveals the night rain and

a staticky blanket keeps me warm

I see long white t-shirts

skimming the tops of bare legs

as the golden morning light catches it’s rays

in your messy hair
A classmate read my piece out loud anonymously, and then my professor asked the group what they liked about it.
Silence.
Someone said, "That rain part sounded cool."
More silence.
Then my professor asked for critiques, and like a balloon bursting and releasing it's air, there was a barrage of, "WHAT IS THIS?!??!" I'm not even joking, it was like they were all holding their breath for that one moment. I heard:
- "how many people ARE THERE in this poem?"
-"what's with the t-shirts?"
-"why is there more than one t-shirt?"
-"is staticky even a word?"
I listened dishearteningly while they all tried to figure out what the author could possibly mean by this vague riddle of a poem. Then my professor asked if the writer wanted to speak. Normally I would sit silently and try to be as inconspicuous as possible, but this time I spoke up.  I explained how the poem wasn't supposed to be specific, but instead represent the blurry images I see when I think about my future and having a family. I ended with something like, "So the white t-shirts could be on little kids running around, or, you know, a woman." By "woman," I meant the wife in the scenario (which in my mind, would be me, but I really didn't want to put the image of me wearing only a t-shirt for pajamas in the heads of my entire class) but my professor responded with:
"Ah yes, it could easily be a significant other. We never know who we might end up with, do we?" And then I swear he winked. People shuffled in their chairs, and we moved on to another peer's poem. It wasn't until a couple minutes later I realized:

My entire class thinks I'm a lesbian.

Which, I mean, there is totally nothing wrong with that. Except for the fact that I've been dating a human male for the past year. And I'm sure this made them all re-evaluate my short Daisy Buchanan haircut. Dammit.

So there you have it. The uncomfortable moments of my newborn college career. Stay tuned, I'm sure there will be more to come. :)
May your week be filled with ghosts and lesbians!

Always,
Bailey Rose