picture your body, hearing your voice, fall into your eyes

Today, our world history teacher felt compelled to shield us from some nudity in an anthropological documentary we were watching. I feel like adolescents, as a whole, are often grossly underestimated by adults in terms of maturity level. On some level, even the dumbest among us are able to comprehend that these people live in a different culture where different things are appropriate. Additionally, I find that I am fairly comfortable with nudity; probably due to the fact that I often tried to wear as few clothes as possible until I reached the age of six. Most photographs of me at those ages feature me partially clothed, usually wearing at least one hat and several beaded necklaces. Precociously eccentric.
Speaking of maturity, I've been reading a lot of essays about a growing trend of self-infantilism among women. It's interesting to me because I am in a sort of in between phase, no longer a girl but not yet a woman, I suppose. I do not feel terribly concerned, as some apparently do, with appearing adult-like. I find it often just comes naturally in the way that I feel, which is then reflected in the way that I dress/look. Of course, there is always an occasional need for a swipe of red lipstick, a stitch of lace, or a pair of stilettos. But for me, at least, I find I am usually pretty comfortable with myself.
Additionally, I'm reading 'The Virgin Suicides'- a few years ago it was made into a Sofia Coppola movie. It's kind of great- it's absolutely ethereal, in fact. I find that in our culture- and perhaps in my own mind- there is a particular romance in suicide. Not for me, I would never. But the idea is at once morbidly fascinating and beautiful. Beautiful in the imagery of it- blood blooming into the warm water. Floating, for a moment, in the air, before plunging to your death. It's poetic, really. This makes me sound suicidal, but I promise I'm not. I'm thinking purely from a writer's perspective.
I think that's about it for today. Um, goodnight?