january twenty-ninth

philosophy class.

i. daydreaming about ordinary things.
        about what my apartment would look like if I had one.
        about how the snow is going to freeze on the branches tonight.
        about where I’m going to sleep – on the floor or wrapped in somebody’s arms.

ii. (don’t look.  don’t look.)
        alex is leaning closer.
        I know he’s more interested in me than quantum properties.
        or at least he used to be.
        I don’t want him to know what’s in my head.
        he’s looking again.
        trying to be sneaky.
        playing with his shoes.
        he disgusts me.
        and here he is.
        sitting next to me.
        trying to read what’s in my head.

iii. tuning back in.
        giant cards.
        nixon’s speechwriter.
        alex talking.
        again.

iv. tuning out.

v. the girl sitting in front of me dyed her hair.
        why?
        I’m wondering who she’s trying to impress.

vi. checking his phone.
        looking again.
        maybe I’m paranoid.
        but my muscles tense up and my stomach knots and I do whatever I can to avoid looking at his too tight jeans and his unshaven face and the smell of his overpowering cologne makes me want to cringe.

vii. it’s ten to seven.
        I have officially missed fifty minutes of class time
        writing.
        it’s been so long since I’ve remembered how.
        but all the probability and logic and numerical notation of philosophy of science is a little bit suffocating and writing is helping me breathe.

viii. we talked about big things last week.
        big things like God and the universe and things that make us feel safe.
        and big topics make me think of big questions.
        like why do I wake up every morning
        and what purpose does God serve in my life?
        I came to no conclusions.
        God is lost to me, but I’m trying to find him.
        trying to decide what I think about keeping him around.
        and I’m thinking that answers and decisions make me feel comfortable, but not safe.
        holding someone’s hand.
        whispering.
        being able to fall asleep.
        those are the things that make me feel safe.
        not finding my purpose or a boyfriend or even God. 
        those things don’t matter to me.

ix. coming back to consciousness.
        the clock tower is chiming.
        I feel cold.
        class is almost over.
        Jake leans toward me to hiss:
        “God (well, god) forbid you actually do something in this class.”
        guilty.
        but philosophy is about questions.
        and I guess I’m just answering the wrong ones.