12:36 AM. Friday night, technically Saturday.
Sitting in bed. Intoxicated. Comfortably warm under my blankets.
Heather Smith was supposed to study dance history with me tonight, but she didn't answer her phone.
Nichole was supposed to study dance history with me tonight, but she drank a glass of wine and passed out on the couch after a short time. It doesn't matter, I didn't really want to study anyway.
My name is Carolyn Barry. I am twenty years old and I currently live in Urbana, Illinois. It is not an interesting, exciting, or worthwhile place to live.
I am 5 feet 4 inches tall. My height rarely varies due to shoes.
I have blond hair, blue eyes, and fair skin. Small feet, breasts, and wrists. Long enough eyelashes to scrape the front of my glasses. I don't wear my glasses very often.
I am a dancer, sort of, and I like to cook and cut hair. I give pretty good massages, too.
I have no choreographic values.
I like sound, but I don't really listen to music, though I enjoy when other people have it on. I hate it when somebody tries to get to know you by asking you what kind of music you listen to. It makes me want to respond with "Sometimes I have sex to John Mayer."
I met my boyfriend over a conversation about Martha Graham. I think that Martha must have been a really interesting person. Crazy, for sure. She died some time in the 90's I think.
I think my Granny is dying. I guess at 85, what else are you really doing? When I was little my Granny lived next door to me with her two dogs. I used to sit on her back porch and jabber on about whatever I talked about when I was that age and try to hold a very squirmy, eccentric miniature doxin on my lap.
When I was little I liked to wear backwards baseball caps. I still do really, but I'm not as cute so I can't pull it off as well.
I also wanted to be a writer. I wanted to be a zookeeper, a gymnast, a teacher, a carpenter, a chef, a nomad, an actress, a mathematician, and a butler at times as well. I never remember wanting to be a dancer.
I'm too tired to write this stream of consciousness biography anymore. It's dumb anyway.
Goodnight.
