Perfectly Not Perfect

I left my class at the break and fled towards the nearest soulless Starbucks.  I could not abide the temperature of the room.  Tonight it was much too hot.  A pretty older woman with curly grey hair gave me a pamphlet as I waited for the streetlight to change.  I just thanked her and let her press it into my palm.  I wandered aimlessly for a bit before hitting the market and the Starbucks then bringing everything back to a bench outside the school where I waited for Kev.  I sat in the wind and contemplated "the world’s most asked question*" according to the Pentacostal Church.

I made some drawings tonight that I’m reasonably okay with.  The teacher and I have a difference of opinion about what is important in terms of drawing.  He wants me to use more tone but I don’t give a shit about tone.  I just want to improve my grasp of proportion so I can apply what I learn to painting and mosaics.  I do not think this is inappropriate, but I am the only one who feels this way.

We had a female model tonight, a thin one this time.  Not perfect but, I thought, very beautiful.  I looked at her and I felt sorry for all of the women struggling with their body image.  I know why we have these issues now.  We don’t know what other women look like.  If we knew we would not be ashamed.  This has to be why almost every guy I’ve ever dated has been frustrated with my shyness.  Men know what women really look like – and – they think it’s fine.  I wish I hadn’t had to wait until a month before my thirtieth birthday to figure this out.

Tonight I sat, I valued my escape and I enjoyed the dwindling light.

* If God made the world, who made God?

What do you think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s