Or the account of my decline into barbarism (and all of the lovely, mad people who helped me do it).

Thursday, February 25, 2010

All You Need Is Love

In this room, I watched a relationship bloom and break. It ended the same way it had begun: with music. We both cried, tried to fix it, but I eventually handed him his Beatles anthology and his copy of Revolver. We hugged one last time, and as he put his lips to my head I heard him gasp, felt him quake.


Lael spent the night with me. I took a Loritab to fall asleep, but I only dreamt of him. I awoke, forgot about our ended relationship, and wept. I want him back. I don't feel the liberating relief that always comes with a breakup. He was incredible, and it's impossible to keep myself from calling him and begging him to come over. I'm going to give it a few days, see if we can salvage it. He said, "Maybe after you go to Italy, my job will be straightened out, and we'll see what happens." Maybe, Daniel Smith, maybe, but I want you now.

Sunday, February 21, 2010


I answered the door in a green men's button-down and a pink lace bra.

He asked, "Whose shirt is that?"

"It's a boy's shirt." I replied coyly.

"Yeah. Whose?"


I've given up swearing (yeah, right) and self-deprecation for Lent. No self-loathing for forty days? I flip my hair, say, "Easy."

Sunday, February 14, 2010


Friday I should have been reading Madame Bovary, got manicures and pedicures with Jen instead. It was flurrying when I met her, but it flurries every goddamn day here, so I didn't worry about it. We went to Ingles, bought pizza rolls and soy milk, and spun out on Merrimon. I shifted into first and crawled up the hill to campus, where Emily told me to stay. I spent the night with Jennifer in her dorm room. We ate peanut butter Oreos and stayed up until five watching Jersey Shore reruns.

On Saturday, Daniel and I celebrated Valentine's Day since he had to work today. We went downtown to Carmel's, but the sidewalks weren't salted so I stumbled through the snow in peep-toe platforms. Mistake? Daniel just shook his head and asked, "Why?"

Afterwards, we hung out and went to my apartment for the night. Edgar, my roommate's high maintenance Siamese, clawed at the bedroom door. In my red lace bra and boxer shorts, I chased the damn cat into the living room.

I'm spending the morning eating Russell Stover chocolates and reading the literature I neglected this weekend. Happy Valentine's Day!

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Lucky Day

I bought a lime green vibrator. Sarah and I sipped vanilla bean frapps and drove through the rain.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Milkshakes, A Little Too Sweet

Saturday night: Syd and I sip peanut butter banana milkshakes and Cokes from the drive-thru. I hit a raccoon with the Land Rover on the way to the apartment. All weekend I feel the lingering sadness of the previous night's meltdown. As a result, I stay in with Syd, Jordan, and Michelle. Lael arrives at our doorstep with a bottle of wine and demands we fix her Easy Mac. We sit on the floor as I dangle pretty harlequin lingerie from my fingers.

Look, look! La Perla....blah, blah, Valentine's Day!

I didn't expect to see Daniel, but Lael calls him and he heads over after bar-hopping with his friends. I sit on his lap and laugh, make him spend the night. We're up until 3 AM.

Sunday: He comes over again and I write a paper on Keats and cry when he asks me what's wrong. We sit there for awhile, his hands on my thighs as I grip a tissue and catch tears in my hands.

"I don't know what's wrong. Everything...I can't put my finger on it. I'm just sad." I say.

We talk. And I hold his hand when I walk him to the door.

Friday, February 5, 2010

I Am Only Certain that I Am Uncertain

Tonight I had my bi-annual mental breakdown. Michelle found me in the fetal position on my bedroom floor. Emerald tears stained my pink cheeks.

"I'm dying." I didn't know how I felt. I really didn't.

Michelle sat beside me and held my hand. She said, baby, baby. I gazed at where the blue sky wall met the shadows of my ceiling.

"Do you want to go to Cook Out to get a milkshake?" She asked me.

"I can't. I'm too fat!" I climaxed into another fit of tears.

"Are you laughing or crying?" Michelle asked, giggling.

"My dad thinks I'm fat." I sobbed.

After another fifteen minutes of rolling around on the floor, we snatched Hannah from her bedroom and drove to Cook Out. I couldn't finish the milkshake, but I ate the cheese fries. I am still unable to accept the snow, so I wore boxer shorts and Uggs with striped knee-high socks.

And then I was okay.

Monday, February 1, 2010


Today, my boyfriend shoved Revolver into my hand and told me to listen. I grabbed it and said, "I guess you'll have to read Paradise Lost." I see it this way: a rock album for the boy who scans music shelves and kisses me on the jaw; an Edenic tragedy for the girl who shuffles on campus sidewalks and clutches literature to her cleavage.

We talked past midnight. Our heads were flat against the bed and parallel to the chalky ridges on the ceiling. He told me of a broken heart in springtime. I smiled, said, "A year ago...funny how things change."