smells like winter

September 23. 1999

Today was freezing cold. I went to sleep at around 1 am (downright early for me) in my clothes on top of my covers, like I usually do. I woke up sometime during the night, freezing cold, probably due to the open window right beside me.

As I was walking home from my late night drawing class (the studio was NOT sweltering for the first time ever) I could've sworn I smelled winter. I live so much by my sense of smell. I retain memories by it. I can be going through old things, and I'll catch a whiff of something, and all sorts of things I had forgotten suddenly become very vivid. For instance, as I was walking home, I smelled the air, and I immediately remembered the Christmas party my Mom and Dad gave several years ago for the neighborhood. My friend Alexis eating drunken hot dogs (hot dogs soaked in this bourbon and ketchup mixture) and making fun of the name. Me being relegated to the piano to perform the usual Christmas standards. Me playing my brand new Billy Joel sheet music book, and Mrs. Anspach singing along to "Piano Man" in her very out of tune voice. It's things like this that are sometimes buried so far back that only smells will trigger them.

Another few moments passed, I sniffed again, and remember going to the shore with my church in 1995. The hurricane that prevented us from going to the beach the whole time we were there. The sweltering heat. Going to see Apollo 13 to pass the time. Playing cards with Sister Chris for hours (the only nun I ever knew that didn't weird me out). Going to the boardwalk and spending $24 on a Beatles t-shirt. Flirting with stupid boys. arrgh. Some things are best left unremembered...;).

Still nothing in the journal. Still waiting.

music: Not a Pretty Girl, Ani DiFranco
food: Shuey's Pretzels, only made in Lebanon, PA, in a little shop on Lehman Street
read: a book on Michelangelo Buonarotti
sight: CDs without cases, strewn all over the desk
random: people talking in the hall. i am joining them in a moment.