I went to see my friends new house yesterday.
She made us chicken Caesar salads and we smoked three cigarettes in the sun.
There were boys playing basketball across the street. We talked about her living in the city and me at college. I told her all the things I was reading, she told me she is re-reading The Awakening by Kate Chopin.
Last time I saw her, she was re-reading The Bell jar by Sylvia Plath.
We went to get boba and onigiri. I had my sunroof down and my Eagles cd in.
I blasted "New Kid in Town" and she looked like a bug rolled onto its back on the sidewalk while I sang my heart out. The sun was out and that was all there was, no need to talk.
She has these tattoos that go from the bottom of her neck down to the backs of her biceps.
In the sun, they kind of glisten.
She has long silver hair she dyes black underneath.
She looks metal as hell.
I would've written this all down yesterday, but I told you, the sun was out.
Today I am going to help another friend move around her apartment.
It is the first time we are hanging out in a year. She is fostering seven puppies and has to finish an art project for a museum. I wore cute, matching socks because she doesn't allow shoes inside her house.
She is very spiritual, which means she is very cool.
I am excited to smell puppy breath and undoubtably talk about her ex-boyfriend we both dislike.
The sun is warm again today, so I hope I get to lay in the grass.
I know it will be itchy, I don't really care.
There is a quote by Sylvia Plath that says:
"In March I'll be rested, caught up and human."
It has gained popularity this March. I guess people had a hard winter.
At the Barnes and Noble yesterday my friend bought The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath, and the older woman at the counter asked us if people our age still read Sylvia Plath.
We told her yes and she seemed to be happy about that. She said her work is beautifully sad.
What the older woman does not know is that Sylvia Plath is popular again because of social media.
Every two months a new quote of hers surfaces and every bookish girl posts it on their story.
The Fig Tree analogy reigns supremacy.
I don't care much for the Fig Tree. I probably would've if I hadn't read it a million times already.
When I read The Bell Jar, I was most struck by the scene when Esther points her shoes out to sea.
"I had removed my patent leather shoes after a while, for they foundered badly in the sand. It pleased me to think they would be perched there on the silver log, pointing out to sea, like a sort of soul-compass, after I was dead."
The scene of the beach made me weep and those damned shoes.
I wonder what was Sylvia Plath's life and what wasn't.
I don't want anyone to answer that. Sometimes I feel like I spoil myself of curiosity when I find out too much about an author and their life. It is like once they die, they are forever in blossom for us.
I have seen people talk about Sylvia Plath's shoes that she was wearing when she died.
There is a poem about it somewhere. I wish I could find it.
Would Sylvia Plath like girls like us?
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