If only the Jar Hippy really knew that she was the subject of so much of my writing.  The quiet woman who fascinates and infuriates my days at school, surely deserves a thank you, even if she never receives it.  Somewhere under her facade of wool and patchouli, is I’m sure a tender soul who thinks nothing of the mason jar that she totes from class to class.  And me, the frustrated, overworked fellow in the front row could use some of your chill, adverse attitudes about the pace that we take in life, and the vessels in which we drink from.

And you help me to wonder, Jar Hippy, just who is following my every move?  Just how many people take notice to me speed walking around this fair Vancouver campus of ours, scarves trailing, shoes clicking??  How many observers are completely filled with rage to see the texture of my jackets, the countless disposable coffee cups that I also tote around?…  How many of them would want to consume me too?? Or completely deconstruct me?

There is something about those of us that silently sit in the corners of the room, looking still and transfixed by the books in our hands and the music in our ears, while completely hypnotized by the bodies in the room and the jars that they drink from.

And I’ve watched you run across 49th, and I’ve seen your body move in ways that a gay gold star would never understand.  For the male form in all of its simplicity would never know the complexities of your layers and layers of feminist propaganda, or truths, or sentences that surround the center of every page and each period; all of it padding for something deeply interesting and intriguing inside.

I’ve learned how to walk in my best saunter, and still, I’m standing tall, strong, and new in this skin, and some might care to tell me that it’s all temporary.

And still, I must wonder, Jar Hippy, if I can feel such rage and fascination towards you all these months and days,

then surely there is hope for this new happiness too…

More from Stink Wallet

• SEO, The Writing under the Graffiti, and The Spiders in the Machine | Writing | Vancouver | Musings, Tangents, Rants | StinkWallet
• Writing my Skin Tighter, Hair Thicker, Eyes Brighter
• And Mirrors to Cut with… | Writing | Vancouver | Musings, Tangents, Rants | StinkWallet