Pony: #
11.1.2002
I went to another stagiaire's apartment last week and was struck by how familiar it felt until I remembered that I had moved Jonathan G. out of that same space several years before.
I remembered trying to manouever an impossible sofa down the narrow stairs with Fasika.
At one point we stopped to catch our breath. She reached into her pocket and handed me a pack of post-it-notes.
"Here, these are for you," she said.
"What for?" I asked.
"That's for saying that no one could mistake me for stupid."
A few weeks earlier, we had both confided our deep fear of being thought of as stupid. I assured my friend (a PHD candidate, a marathon runner, and artist) emphatically that there was NO way anyone could mistake her for stupid.
