Where school was once somewhere we would just go without question, it's now a place that's quiet for me and my year level, scattered all around, unsure in our casual dress and lost under forests-worth of essays. This strange space between the end of school and the end of year 12 is an awkward limbo and as usual, internal feelings of discomfort are expressed through my now blue-ended hair, something which, like tenacious but vague anxieties, we carry around every hour, every day.
Lately I feel like wry smiles aren't as becoming as I once thought. Sometimes honest conversation with the video shop lady as I sheepishly re-rent season six of 'Friends' for the 173,938th time is just the humble thing I need to shake off the haze of these tiresome exams. Same as the local library lady; a jaded old woman with an affixed frown and perfect perm and a wardrobe seeming to be exclusively sourced from Miller's, grumpily surveying me in my caffienated fury and co-ordinated Disney Princess stationary, profusely apologising for forgetting my card, her cringing as I drop precious books at her feet. These are little realities that I miss, like the dirty feeling of the ticket machine's buttons at the train station, or pulling that little lever on the mailbox to post a letter too thick to fit into the slot, or testing out lipsticks in the pharmacy on the back of your hand. Just little details that are kind of nice, in all their pettiness. Mundane, really, but still - just nice.
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