So it's funny because no one probably cares anymore, but so it is. This summer, I live in a house in Oberlin and I do grown-up things, like buying groceries and paying rent and having a full-time job and multiple part-time jobs. I'm actually, overall, pretty unhappy. I don't like my job (I like the poeple though). Correction, I hate my job. ( Read more... )

So...I wrote this poem for my workshop about a soul looking for its home among the insides of a body. Because over the course of this year, I've lost my home more times than I'd like to admit. I moved, and now I have to leave my cooperative because, well, no one cooperates (and I know you could care less and hell, you probably think I deserve it ( Read more... )

I'm not done with you. I never have been. I'm somewhere else right now and that is going really well, but I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that you are gone. You're still around in my insides in a very real way. I know that I made a lot of what would have or could have happened up, and I still think about it every once in a while (I'm in ( Read more... )

I have only been here semester but there are all these people that there's weird stuff with. There are people from the debacle I had last February (one of whom is in one of my classes, that is going to be a blaaaaaaaaaaast), and people who I never even made choices about whether or not to include in my life (exgirlfriends, you see). So I walk ( Read more... )

After an excruciatingly long Winter Term, I have come to realize that Westford is not home anymore. There are good people and I love seeing them all and that statement is mostly directed at my house, and not at them ( Read more... )

I feel compelled to write this. And you, the blogging world, has to listen to it! Because that is the point of this stupid shit ( Read more... )

I was talking to my mom earlier today and I said, "It's been a really rough semester." She asked, "How so?" and it was weird for me to think that she hasn't seen most of my reactions to life ( Read more... )

This afternoon I skipped class and came home and collapsed on my roommate's bed and cried as she rubbed my back because nothing is really changing and no matter how many times I call Connor to come hug me, things will not just change. The jazz guitarist who lives next door and takes two hour showers will not get headphones so that I can sleep ( Read more... )

I confronted my ghost in the street. I told him how much he'd hurt me. I almost cried, but I didn't, but my voice was shaking. And he told me he was sorry. And when I tried to say I was sorry, he told me I didn't need to be. He also said that he wished he hadn't met me when he did, the wrong time ( Read more... )

Tonight, Virginia from Iowa, my new roommate and I, watched Bridget Jones's Diary and gushed over Colin Firth, first kisses, and hopeless romanticism. Earlier I bumped into the old roommate and realized that I am so much better off ( Read more... )