Boiling Water
18 Dec 2018
I used to go to nude figure drawing on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 8pm to 9pm every week during my freshman fall semester on campus, mostly because my art class professor encouraged it. I remember the first time I walked in, there were a couple older male townies there already, and one of them immediately turned to me and asked, “Are you the model?”. I wasn’t, although I bet he wished I was. Isn’t that funny?
I spoke with a surprising amount of clarity. We were arguing over something political, or maybe something about a family friend of ours? I can’t remember. But I do clearly recall my mother’s eyes laying on me, a small smile of amusement on her familiar face.
I am content. I think I’m happy. I still don’t have anyone to talk to. I guess I’m just going to continue writing to you, then.
Today, I am an awfully unsure person. I am confident—I’m just never sure about anything. Honestly, I wish I could make a friend that I can talk to every day, and not be ignored by them. It just makes me so sad when I’m ignored. I thought we could be friends, but I guess if you’re not going to put in the effort, why should I even try?
There are all these possible options for friends, but I’m never sure who I should try to connect with. My perfect friend should be happy, spontaneous, smart, clever, silly, and just… supportive. They should be there to have my back when I have problems or troubles.
Today I went to my wealthy uncle’s country home. It’s huge—big enough and decked out enough to make my jaw drop. I guess you could say I’m envious, but in a way it motivates me. It makes me think about what I would have to do to get a house like that.
I asked my aunt what direction I should go in for college. I’m not sure whether she understood me, but she said I should marry a wealthy man. I laughed.