Ugh.
I'm going to do this one today: http://writeaboutcomma.tumblr.com/post/143496644130/write-about-what-youve-outgrown-what-you-can
Gonna make it a list poem.
*
What I've Outgrown
My pants.
Winter.
Board games (though to be honest I never liked them).
Lollipops -- these days, I prefer suckers.
Petty jealousies about so-called "talent" and other peoples' accomplishments. I have my own.
Romance novels.
Pushing the limits by talking about sex and sexuality openly.
Freud (see above).
Lacan (sticks tongue out at Lacan and makes gagging gesture
[not yet outgrown, apparently] re:
Lacanian analysis of literature.
Fear of driving.
Parties, dancing, dance parties, flirting, clubs,
dressing up for dance parties and flirting,
dressing up in general, and, yes,
too-high heels.
Nylons. Definitely nylons.
God, they're nasty little vag traps.
Gunne Sax dresses and little girly girl fashion for grown ass women. Kinder-whore apparel.
The Junior section of any store.
Ballet flats.
Stories about Dad and his boring problems which create my boring problems.
My boring problems.
Whining? Not sure about this one.
"Desire."
Daquiris.
Strawberry ice cream.
Diet Coke?
Backpacks as book bags.
Mini-skirts and plunging necklines.
Attempting to get a suntan. (I've given up impossibility.)
Culottes. Stirrup pants. Shoulder pads. Big hair. (If the 80s come back, I'm already
over them. Don't take a message.)
Maybe Halloween.
Gum drops, cotton candy, bubblegum, taffy, Now & Laters.
Swimming pools.
Bikinis, most certainly.
Girl mags like Glamour and Vogue.
Giving a shit about celebrities. In fact, I've outgrown TV.
Mistaking anxiety for infatuation; misreading loneliness for love; confusing gratitude with attraction.
The "seven year itch."
Perfection.
Random corners in my memory.
Did I mention my pants?
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