makes me wet.
you’re not going to remember.
The poems I wrote you in my head and the songs I’d sing to your memory at night.
The time I snort laughed and when I kept my black socks on at the beach.
Keep those words to myself and my eyes somewhere else.
Nathan: you just seem to be taking all this okay
Nathan: and deciding what you can do from what you have
I dreamed of going to Santa Monica College. Actually, that’s not true. My ideal institute of higher education shifted accordingly as I grew older. In my elementary years, I envisioned myself in Yale. In junior high, I saw Northwestern and Indiana University at Bloomington as more realistic (journalist/opera singer). Once I reached high school I saw myself going to New York University or somewhere just as potentially enriching. As the months waned on, schools in the Western part of the US seemed better-suited. In 11th grade, I thought a UC such as UC Berkeley or UCLA would be great. Months passed and I decided I’d just go to a UC with lower prerequisites. By 12th grade, I thought an arts institute or private arts college would be nice. Months passed and I was doubting even LA School of Film would accept me. When it dawned on me that I wasn’t going to a four-year college, I chose Santa Monica. I did my research, fell in love with the campus, and envisioned myself having a neat transfer into UCLA after two years. Now, I just want to graduate high-school.
That doesn’t even seem likely with my missing credits.
As for SMC.
It’s not impossible but it’s unreasonable.
I live way south of Santa Monica. The family business is flailing/failing (business phones were disconnected) and I’m stuck here. Chin down, eyes watery but this is where I’ll be. I can’t blame anyone.
When I was five I took a field trip to Fullerton College and told the professor I’d be back.
Just keeping my word.