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playing the comb
I have this memory of often being the last kid to get picked up after school. Of taking some wax paper from my lunch bag and wrapping it around a comb and humming songs.

It seemed like the most despairing, hobo-like thing I could do in that moment, standing in my navy tunic, my hair half-out of my ponytail, my bag stuffed with everything in my locker, the wind blowing in the desolate driveway as I waited for my ride.

Last night, stress seemed so large I was awake at 5:30, too fatigued to get up, too preocuppied to sleep. In the middle of the night, everything seems as disproportionately desolate as it did as a kid.

If this happens again, I am taking out my comb.

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9.8.2005
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post #1065
bio: adina
perma-link
9/8/2005
13:16

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