wit & shit

• the beloved oldsmobile is on its way out. i am now the proud owner of a buick. from a boat to a spaceship, it’s every 21 year old’s dream.
• 25 pages of writing stand between the semester from hell and going home.
• sold weed to someone born in 1992. a BABY! a fetus! not yet a fully-formed human being!
• painted my nails in a lisa frank neon cheetah style and ate a lot of french toast sticks last night.
• set the curve in a final yesterday. having a class full of idiots is really excellent for my self esteem. riding an academic high (master and commander of academia).
• my hair is starting to dread itself, but brushing it seems painful at this point so i’m just gonna let it go ahead and do its thing.

• 14: days left in the semester
• 20: xanax left to see me through
• 2: nights i have slept on the floor, next to my bed, with the fruit flies, refusing to get into bed until i had ‘regained my dignity’
• 2: number of times i did that soberly
• 6: major mental breakdowns
• 1: number of times i fell down our entire flight of stairs because i am an old woman and help, i’ve fallen and i can’t (won’t) get up
• 250: approximate number of bowls i’ve smoked
• 4: times i have skipped class specifically to make unnecessary crafts
• 1: tuna casserole made (soberly) at 1:30 a.m. (great depression housewife skillz, see me)
• 3: bottles of wine stolen from the ex-president’s cellar
• 100: approximate number of fruit flies i have killed by hand
• 300: approximate number of fruit flies i have killed through whiskey traps
• 1: number of actual flies i trapped in my ceiling light, then duct taped shut in order to watch it die (no guilt. it was loud and a show-off.)
• 20: times i have said “that’s it, i’m dropping out!”
• 50: estimated number of times i have gotten out the hot glue gun as a remedy for anxiety

my bank account is scarily empty, and cobwebs have formed where once there were dollars. i am so indebted to my mother at this point that i am technically an indentured slave, having worked out an agreement to do manual labor for her for the next thirteen months to pay off my loans to her. normally i wouldn’t be too concerned, but with graduation looming in the not-so-distant distance, a sociology and african diaspora studies degree is beginning to sound like the wrong decision.

i’ve fallen in love with a lot of corners of this corner-less sphere we live on. i’ve left pieces of my heart in west africa, in scandanavia, in eastern europe, in the middle east. maryland no longer feels like ‘home’, and i’m less and less excited to come back after each trip. after living in some crazy, bright, loud cultures, living in a town named eldersburg (clearly a bustling metropolis) isn’t doing it for me. i feel like i’m in a holding pen, waiting until the next time i can leave. it’s like being back in middle school, sans sock hops and plus debt.

i’ve found friends everywhere i’ve been. people i love, people who are important to me. the almighty facebook allows me to keep in contact with these motherfuckers, but it’s not the same. and it’s hard. it’s hard knowing that i may not ever actually see a lot of these friends again. that they are stuck in one piece of my life’s story, and i can’t bring them forward. if lil wayne would hire me to write for him, i could afford to bring them all along as my big, eclectic, international posse. but this plan is dependent on weezy, and he still hasn’t gotten back to me after that letter i sent him while he was locked up.

i am constantly annoying people by talking about travel. i have become ‘that girl’ who is always rambling about banjul, or copenhagen, or tel aviv. i annoy myself, and yet i can’t stop. i don’t even want to stop. white girl problems!

this has been a post.

this summer is never-ending

lebron james makes me wanna vom. ego for dayz! he’s no fun.