Beside the white chickens
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I'm silly, 20 years old, too sentimental, too sensitive, an INFP, super liberal, a feminist, a senior at a tiny women’s college, living in North Carolina, a mountain-lover, majoring in psychology, obsessed with poetry, a Goodwill shopper, living with my best friend, and terrified of getting old.
Interests include music, poetry and writing, the south, neuroscience, pregnancy, motherhood, memories, dreams, feminism, sunflowers, Flannery O'Connor, human anatomy, and cats.
I'm silly, 20 years old, too sentimental, too sensitive, an INFP, super liberal, a feminist, a senior at a tiny women’s college, living in North Carolina, a mountain-lover, majoring in psychology, obsessed with poetry, a Goodwill shopper, living with my best friend, and terrified of getting old.
Today in class my developmental psych teacher - who is really sweet until something makes him cranky - was complaining about his baldness, so I told him I liked his hair, which he still has on the sides of his head. To that he said “One of the best moments of my life was when my wife touched the top of my head and said ‘I like your head’… because ya know, you look in the mirror and worry about these things, about losing your hair and your wife not liking how you look anymore.’” AND THEN MY HEART MELTED and I remembered that being married wouldn’t be so bad at times and that I shouldn’t be such a scrooge about the whole ordeal. He just looked so happy talking about his wife still liking his bald head, you guys.
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