2008

Disney World smells like new t-shirts and chemical fertilizer. There are no bugs there.

This has nothing to do with 2008, but as I avoid school work and look through my friend's photos of her in Disney World, I remember being there. I remember being heavy with braces and an eeyore shirt. I remember the awkwardness of my walk. I hunched my shoulders to hide my large breasts. I stuck my neck out and stepped toes outward, like a fop.

Since the New Year rang in, I have felt myself standing in some strange place where the boundaries come into view in jagged spurts. I am becoming more defined by my limitations.

I am having trouble with 2008. It seems a year of guts and baggy undereyes. It seems like a year when I will have to start grooming myself properly and doublecheck everything. It seems like a year in which I will have to grow some goddamn chest hair.