Sitting in Biology Class

Everyone is pipeting their saliva and saline solution into small tubes and centrifuging them and shaking them and bent heads examine small amounts of clear liquid and Courtney peeks over my shoulder and chuckles like a redneck. She bought peanut butter m&ms and animal crackers and skittles. She bounced in front of the vending machine as she popped in the coins, giddy. The lovebirds are conversing in the corner. He has his hands on his hips and a contemplative countenance; she has her hands in her pockets and is smiling. And I still have a paper to write. On Dickinson and Frost. It’s too bad that I’ve procrastinated; I love Dickinson and Frost and hate not to do them justice. But can anyone do them justice? I don’t think they can even do themselves justice. And if they can’t, no one can. Kendal says: “Will it make you self-conscious if I read over your shoulder?” Its a wonder that anyone understands anyone else, ever. Its a small world. Its a small monkey-rope. Its like, we all have the same brain.

Advertisement