if i trip up and fail you

reading week is like a time specifically designated to freak people out. all the tricks and traps of asking other people for help--they're studying more than you, know it better than you, will get a better grade than you, and they're memorizing the ohio revised code and why haven't you done that you don't even know the difference between a vote and a share yet and what the fuck is a triangular merger--are set up very nicely by the time monday rolls around. by the end of the week, after desperate plays at discipline in the form of going to various coffeeshops and going until you reach page this or the time when, after phone calls and emails, after trying to remember that you're just doing the best you can and that's all that matters, and that God exists, still, all you're left with is a frayed and shot last nerve (death by firing squad), a laptop bag that smells like coffee dust, and a hundred hundred emotions crowding in and banging on the door, let me out let me out let me out.

but while drinking my one-shot breve (the perfect warming drink, because it's windy and stone grey outside, the sky, and i'm a little lonely) at a new shop i get to see a little girl run in with a pink slicker on and messy blonde hair, and climb on the wire newspaper rack, and look at me and smile with two crooked and very small teeth and sit right down on top of all the papers and the free magazines and then when some of the plastic snaps off and she says, ooooops with the teeth again, she gets my real genuine bona fide rare smile, with the eyes too, because it's nicer than anything i can possibly think of or feel today.

and that's when i decided, only until page 30 and two hours fifteen, because it's sunday and the grey is getting into your bones already, so then take a nap in the nice soft yellow and pink guest room (and glad of the guest bit) but first write a little before you forget about the newspapers.