Winds of change

My dad once told me about one of his teachers in elementary school. Grade four, maybe. Her name was Mrs. Swaghoffer, she spoke with a harsh, German accent and her arms were always folded underneath a pair of enormous breasts. While he was in her class he secretly feared that one day while she was standing over his desk looking at his work, she would uncross her arms and he would be crushed to death under her enormous bosom.

I don't know why I remember this now. I just do.

The cadets are marching to a drum and uninspired band music just outside my window. For a while I thought they'd be cooler if they had syncopated beats or something, but Adorno and Horkheimer have wrecked jazz for me.

I have not adjusted to daylight savings time at all. I'm convinced it's an American conspiracy to make it more dangerous for me to get home after school. It takes the light away from the time when I have to dodge cars to cross the street at poorly lit intersections and puts it when I am either asleep or studying at home. It means that I suddenly can't go for runs in the evenings because the forest is dark. I'm not convinced that it saves energy either. It just leaves me tired.

The eggy scent of sulphur is hanging on the air tonight. I don't know why it's so much more noticeable today than it is any other day. I noticed the other day that the Downtown East Side smelled unusually fishy as I was bussing through. The smell comes from the canneries at the docks, but most days you don't smell it in that area. Maybe the air is moving differently.

Winds of change, only different.

A year ago today: Showering 8:15