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

Sunday, June 27, 2010


Emily and I picnicked on the floor of her dorm. We drank wine and ate peanut butter and jelly on crackers. I don't recommend the combination. Sarah came over and we left.

Stephanie texted me and said she saw Daniel at a party and he dropped my name. I asked what he said and where she was, but she never responded.

We headed over to T-Bo's for the second night in a row. I referred to him as T-Burr the entire night and sat on the couch watching Michael Jackson music videos and feeling the room spin. I chatted with an attractive boy named Alex and apologized repeatedly for being intoxicated. He kept assuring me everything was fine, I shouldn't be embarrassed.

Emily kept giving me ice water to help sober up, and we went outside on the breezeway. She and a friend from home, Jordan, talked about ass-to-mouth until 3 AM and Sarah was smoking and screaming about how she hates cuddling after sex.

One of the basketball players has been soliciting me. He wanted me to visit him at the Grove, but I had already decided against becoming a whore.

When we left, I gave Alex a hug. T-Bo was sweet and asked, "Are you sure you don't want to get her another glass of water? It's free."

This morning, Emily and I ate breakfast downtown. We had french toast and sweet tea and talked about how much we loved Asheville. I hated to leave. On the way home, Stephanie called to apologize for not texting me back last night. She told me about seeing Daniel and how she accused him of still liking me because of "this look in his eye."

"Oh my God, Stephanie." I said. I declared her my hero and smiled until I got home.

Saturday, June 26, 2010


The night began on a bad note. Emily and I sipped beers and watched a sub-par 90s film. We got drunk on terrible Ingles wine. Later, Sarah joined us. Her friend was having a get-together at the Grove, so we went over. She introduced me, said, "This is her first time drinking in the States!"

They thought I was exotic and proceeded to ask where I was from. I explained I had just returned from Italy. Sarah and Emily disappeared, and I had an intense conversation about world travels with a guy who had been in the Navy. Thirty minutes later, the guys left the apartment, so we had to relocate.

Sarah, Emily, and I wanted food so we traveled to McDonald's, then BK, then IHOP, where I concentrated on eating Nutella crepes and guzzling ice water. It was 1 AM and we were laughing. Emily addressed the waitress as "Hey, girl."

We were obnoxious, but it was kind of nice to finally be that girl who's having fun and not giving a shit.

Thursday, June 24, 2010


Last night my friends threw me a surprise birthday party in Johnson City. Michelle was there, which was completely surreal. I hadn't expected to see her until our Montreal trip next month. But it was a good surprise, of course.

After taking shots and sipping wine, we drunkenly walked to a nearby park. I got on the swing set. My dress fluttered above my thighs and I squealed as I took flight. It was dark and quiet.

"This is so good." I said. The breeze seemed to melt on my skin. I pumped my legs until the view below-so small, so fast- gave me chills.

"It's like the last innocent thing, you know?" I said. I felt like everyone was writing me off since I had guzzled three glasses of wine, but I was being serious. Swinging in the summertime, my heart ticking, my bare skin in the wind, it all felt so good. The sensations were innocent. I didn't think about them, I just let them happen.

Later, I passed out on a power chord in Michelle's apartment. I slept on the hardwood floor by the window so the breeze would dry my sweat. I woke up at 8:30 to meet my personal trainer this morning. I powered through another tough work out. I wasn't sure I'd be able to run laps with a belly full of wine but I surprise myself sometimes.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

I No Longer Give a Fuck about an Oxford Comma

I'm seriously considering dropping my literature major. I no longer love reading, and it's a shame because Barnes & Noble used to be my haven. Now I buy books but never manage to read them. I recently wrote a note on Facebook entitled "On Literature" which outlines how I feel about studying literature. Basically, school really took the joy out of it. I wanted to be a creative writer because I love stories: fabricating them, sharing them, and hearing them. I love how Paradise Lost made me feel the first time I read it, how there's nothing better than enjoying a good novel past 3 AM, how satisfying it is to finish another book, shelf it, and choose another. But I haven't felt this way about reading for several months now.

I also miss writing. Since I finished my novel two years ago, I haven't been able to write another long fiction piece. My attention span is too short. I've written a few things in my writing workshops, and I'm proud of some of them. But when I write now, all I can think of is the criticism in the back of my head. What's the point in writing if I know it will never be good enough? Do I really have the courage or resilience to spend months- even years - on a project, only to be dissatisfied in the end? I miss writing and having fun with it. I still love creating characters and stories, but I cannot communicate them on a page. And isn't that what a writer does?

I'm still in love with the spirtual aspects of literature. I know how powerful words can be. I love that you can manipulate them to make someone cry or laugh or sigh. I love that, and I love experiencing those emotions when I read a good story.

Damn. I don't know what to do. In a perfect world, I would drop literature for International Studies, because after traveling to Italy I know that I want to continue studying French and foreign languages. However, it's too late now. I will never graduate on time if I switch. Besides, I'm almost done with literature so I should just finish it. After all, the classes honed my writing. Maybe this is just a phase. I hope it is.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010


I've been in Italy for the past month, and I cannot begin to recap the adventures I've had there. I wish I would have brought my computer so I could have blogged overseas, but we traveled from city to city and I didn't want to carry any extra luggage.

The trip effected me in a way I cannot describe. I climbed the Alps and its beauty restored my faith in the goodness of the world.

The people with whom I traveled, once acquaintances, soon became my close friends within days.

In a monastery, I got drunk for the first time and showed the nuns my underwear.

I racked up 80 euro bar tab (about $150) with my friends and ran through the streets of Rome with a belly full of cocktails to make the curfew at the monastery.

I stood in St. Peter's Basilica and wept.

I learned I speak perfect French when I'm drunk. Resume material??

I got sick of hearing Italians say, "Americani." Am I that obviously American? I can't be. I almost didn't make it through Italian customs because the officer thought I was Italian, not American.

The night before we left, I wept for hours. In the bar. In the befriended's shopkeeper's store. In my friends' arms.

I miss Italy.