lethargy pt 2: inversion of albertine/small medium large

There are probably a billion Flickr groups called something like "Girls In Beds" (or more appropriately, "~~GIRLS~~IN~~BED~~" blah blah) littered with bent arms and a tension between skin and fabric.  There are things that I might talk about as a problem of style or rather, uh, "problematized" by my relationship to fashion that someone without the obnoxious tendency to overthink and schematize wouldn't see as such.  And yet the existence of these types of Flickr groups completely confirms my outlook.  There are groups called "Take Off Your Sweater" of just people in the process of taking off their sweaters (I almost included in the above images a picture I stole from this group).  Flickr, as the Wikipedia of both semi-professional and snapshot photography--and thus of a certain kind of gaze--is the perfect space for me to openly fetishize gesture.  Not that I'm not doing enough of that in the real world, where it is quieter and creates more complications.  It may be comforting to play with  my hair, run my split ends along my nose, and pinch my lower lip while I'm writing close-reading responses on the third floor of the library, but my ability to do it without thinking about who can see me do it and how adorable it might look to them never lasts more than two seconds.  

I am a pen chewer.  I chew compulsively on pens because I fucking love the way it feels.  When strangers loan me pens in class I frequently slip them in my bag at the end of class and rush out in an effort to pretend like I forgot where I got it from so I don't have to return and explain a mangled cap.  It's a disgusting habit.  While I am partially proud of all my disgusting habits (except of course internet addiction) I would much prefer a boy to catch me doing this softer variation of my tendency to make a meal out of a bic:

And in fact I have done that in class, imagining I've got as big an upper lip as Anne Wiazemsky and pretending like I think no one is watching me, that it's not a performance for the boy sitting diagonally across from me, that it's just a mindless gesture.  These are all the same sentiments I put into getting dressed: the delusion that I will look as good as whoever coined the particular look I am going for (or is it rather that I hope I will partially become that person? which is another topic for another entry), the hope that no one will notice that I'm trying to look like I didn't try and that any remnants of trying that slip in will just come off as further reasoning for my allure, that I can transform what is genuine awkwardness into an awkward feminine charm.

The original intention of this post was to talk about how I comport and--let's face it--pose myself in situations where I am in bed with someone or where someone can see me in bed or otherwise lounging (see the top three photos).  It seems inherently backwards that there would be a mental index of poses in these situations or that one would dare be self-reflexive during moments of intimacy or lethargy or both.  And yet at the same time it makes sense; being in bed with someone or letting them see you in a state of repose is rarely a sign of total comfort with them.  The flirtation continues long after the clothes come off, states of undress are as carefully accounted for as first date outfits (what the hell am I talking about? I've been on two dates in my entire life).  And so I find myself frequently checking my positioning when I'm curled up next to someone or stretched out on a couch in front of someone: which arm is flopping down, which is bent across my chest, how curled is my stomach, where is my hair falling.  The ultimate goal of course not necessarily appearing "sexy" (the word that induces the most vomit noises in me), but rather being something that I can only describe as the perfect object of affection, relaxed and soft, yet bent and contorted, something that invites the freedom to cuddle while keeping itself distanced enough the be idealized (an image obviously derived from the movies I liked in middle school and a certain kind of fashion photography, yet again, a topic for another time).  But, as with all my calculations of appearances, the result is always worse than if I hadn't tried at all, doubly so here because of how ridiculous it is to construct your relaxation mode.  I lie there shoeless or half-naked, sure that what is really being watched is my twitching right hand, attempting to curl just so around my left temple.

k.e.

p.s. to the fist picture: I totally have the pillowcase for the that style of linen set! I don't think that helps at all.