When I was 18 years old I spontaneously left Belmont University the weekend of valentines day. I had come home that weekend and brought a friend with me. The thought of going back to school seemed torturous. I might as well have been straddling the legs of the dining room table like an infant. When I got back to campus the next day I furiously packed up my dorm room. The next morning, my car packed to the nines, I slipped my key and a note under the door of the RD and bounced. I bring this up because I am beginning to have this feeling again seven years later.

Six months in, six more to go. I can't say much has been accomplished. I can't seem to figure out why I uprooted, using this word loosely here, my life to be at a place only open three days a week. Maybe I'm just having a bad week, the kind where inanimate objects become symbols of frustration. Thus, leading me into a constant swearing frenzy. I know what you may be thinking. I am not PMSing thank you. Patience has been the hardest thing to master since being here, especially with myself.

What's it going to take to get myself out of this? This is Tom Waits, Velvet Underground weather. I can feel Lou Reed whispering in my ear as I walk my dog through the dead leaves on the dirty ground. The Mountain Goats want to remind me that I will make it through this year if it kills me. I see a shirtless Iggy Pop dancing around on stage, jumping on broken glass, trying to convince me to not be such a pussy.

I feel as though I am aimlessly walking around the set of the "Smells like Teen Spirit" video.

This always makes me feel better:


  1. Phone visit today was good. Go at your own pace, and count to ten. Remember to ignore the micro-managing, even if it makes you want to scream. You have a lot of us who care and love and support you. XO


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