Monday, March 23, 2009


We were on your bed. You were twirling my hair and I was analyzing the spiderweb on your ceiling. We were discussing your abundance of female admirers, and I informed you that I didn't think you possessed the capacity to love. Instead of laughing, you glanced at your hands and I changed the subject. Later, we went downstairs. I watched as you frantically searched for the hat with the green stripes. You wore a sweatshirt despite the balmy air- you were ashamed of your skin. I wanted to tell you that you were perfect, that there was nothing wrong with your crimson tones. I wandered into the adjacent room, and I expressed surprise at the bird tucked away in the corner. You were silent and I wished I had said something else. I eyed the table, which occupied a substantial amount of space. It was the reason I wanted to visit that particular room, and I think you knew that. There was a picture of a young man placed in the center, surrounded by candles and angels and feathers. I flew through the file cabinet of my memory, and paused at the still of us sitting on your bed weeks earlier. We were talking about your mother, and you remarked that she hadn't been the same since your brother passed away. My heart sank. All the memories I beckoned forth retreated to their drawers. I blinked a few times and leaned against the door frame. You spotted me and winked. I rolled my eyes, but when you turned away, I started to cry.

You are always so tired. I cannot imagine what it is like to lose someone you weren't supposed to lose. You closed the blinds and stopped to kiss my forehead. I wanted to hold you, I wanted to understand you, I wanted to help you. But most of all, I wanted to tell you that you deserve candles and angels and feathers, too.

Saturday, March 21, 2009


I don't know why I have very little to write about lately. School is going well, apart from my political science class. I've been meeting lots of new people. This would normally terrify me, but it hasn't so far. Hairline cracks and shifts. This is progress. This is how it should be. And so I smile.

You are strange. I don't know what to do with you, ever. I know that when you are within several feet of me, I am eerily peaceful and content. And I know that when I drive by the parking lots, I feel hopeful and a little sad and I miss you all at once. You will endlessly amuse me with your forced laughter and ability to say the most honest things. You have not kissed me yet. I am not sure what that means.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

Snapshot Sundays

I've had a busy week, but I managed to document most of it. My break consisted of: seeing The Reader twice, driving around, scrounging for quarters, creeping the streets of Providence, serenading pedestrians, participating in late-night parking lot discussions, sleeping, preparing Mexican food, falling in love with dogs, fidgeting with a scarf, feeling fuzzy, and prank calling Stop & Shop. Instead of writing captions, I'll allow the photos to speak for themselves.

Saturday, March 7, 2009

Snapshots: Spring Break Edition

Since it is officially Spring break, every entry I publish this week will be in the Snapshot Sundays format (I'll have a lot of free time on my hands).

In other news, the weather has been exceedingly bipolar lately. Less than 6 days ago, 7 inches of snow fell. Today? It was sixty degrees. Sixty. I don't even know what to do with myself. Although my love life is not exactly going as planned, Max has finally found his soul mate.

Max & Sasha met for the first time at Diamond Hill Park.
True to male form, Max was only interested in one thing.
I can't say I blame him, though, because she was quite the temptress!
Matt & Sasha ran around....
while Max & I stopped to admire the river.

Thursday, March 5, 2009


Do you know how much I love you? I don't think you do. When you introduced me as your "best friend" tonight, I finally realized what that actually means. For every time I hate you, I love you ten times more.

I love linking arms with you at Prospect Park, at 10pm, while singing Christmas carols to no one in particular. I love driving to Mohegan Sun and seeing AC/DC with you. I love our cryptic, nonsensical language. I love dancing in traffic with you. I love that you were in every single class with me throughout high school. I love getting your car stuck in my front yard. I love Mr. Dodge, Cookie Monster, Edna, Gerald, Agent Feelay, Mabel, Cornch, Selene, and Chang. I love bye, poppin' in for a burg, idiot, swine, shit, yee, and I bought this for your mom. I love the sound of death. I love pretending to be Oprah with you. I love going to China Ocean Garden and attempting to shove a plastic red couch into the car with you. I love our cat masks, our endless list of places to go, and our mutual stubbornness.

I love all the parking lots we've reclined in. I love that we understand each other regardless of the subject matter. I love that neither of us can keep a straight face when we're together. I love that you came to Lindsey's First Communion (where the duck keychain you brought me from Spain kept quacking in my purse as we "prayed"). I love going to the casino with you. I love driving to Bridgewater the night before you first started school. I love prickling. I love all the memories I've made with you, but most importantly, I love you. Long live Pinlade & Fatso.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009


Remember when I wrote about how lovely the weather was? Yeah? Nope.

I get it, snow. You're beautiful. I've understood that for the past 18 years. You've had your season; it is now March. GIVE IT UP. Because honestly, if one more iceberg attempts to take up residence in the form of a half-melted puddle inside my shoe, I'm going to have a nervous breakdown. Especially if it happens at 7:40 in the morning, when I am barely awake and walking to class (read: severely unprepared for such ambushes).

In other news, I should have majored in philosophy:

Sunday, March 1, 2009

Snapshot Sundays

After having potatoes, toast, & apples for breakfast...

I salvaged some ducks from the landfill that is my trunk.

Max came in from outside, blanketed in snow, startled by the camera's flash.

Pesto tortellini pizza for dinner...

followed by an intense round of war.