let lemons be angry

Reading old journals sickens me. I used to poeticise every phase of emotion, and so that was all I wrote in my diaries. I prefer to read old calendars, because there all the facts are, laid bare and honest and valuable. I have much too much to do until thursday is over. But here are some facts, while I can still remember them.

I have found a chair deep at the back of the library behind the best books, and that is where I will spend long monday breaks from now on.

The revered korean lady boss wore the following today: a thin white long-sleeved cashmere knit top,a lavender silk slipdress over that, and black leggings. That outfit changes everything I used to think about her. I'm thinking now about outfits you don't know I have, and how wearing one of them tomorrow could put you out of your element. Simple as cotton.

----

The new model is called Stephanie, and she's from Indonesia. Like stef, chinese and eloquent, about 27 but really 18 in her head. As she sat under the spotlight with a red scarf wrapped around her enthusiastic body, she started talking as if to eleven therapists. The general rule is that our models don't talk. They enter wordlessly and wait outside of the class discussions until it's time to be drawn. Besides, if they talk and emote their faces move and all the important shadows change. But this one came in as if to learn how to paint her own face. She was almost annoyingly eager as we set up the pose--chirpy, amused at her own seminudity, amused at her bra on the chair, wanting us to find her mood contagious. But as she grew sleepy from keeping still in her chair, she started talking about the seminar she'd just attended, and how the conclusion of it all was that there is no past, only the present, and that all of life is meaningless. There was a splendid pause, and then she told us, "It's funny, this morning, my mother and I finally had The Talk." And she laughed, although none of us knew what The Talk was supposed to be. My professor thought she meant the talk about the birds and the bees. "Fessin' up," Stephanie finally elaborated. "Saying i'm sorry. Listening to her."

She's the kind of stranger you simultaneously want to impress and run away from. I always wonder about the models who pose for our classes. What makes them able to disconnect from themselves enough to disrobe in front of strangers? For their eyes indeed disconnect, whether in narcissism or some other unreadable emotion. But Stephanie I wonder most about. Not once did she disconnect; in fact, it was as if she came because she constantly searches for a deep connection, and she hoped to find it among us today.