Sometimes it feels good to be dramatic. I am, by nature, a crybaby. And maybe a little spoiled. My parents have guilt, when you get older and stop wanting hugs, you start to appreciate compensation. Until it blows up in your face when you don't get what you want and you start throwing tantrums about the human condition and can't seem to wrap your brain around the fact that people are people and not barbie dolls or tonka trucks. You can't pout your way into the human heart. I mean, you can try, and I do, but trust, it doesn't work very well, and if it does, it doesn't hold up very long.
In any event, oh summer, I'll miss you.
Things I'm doing:
Finishing my novel
looking for an agent
making a new zine called "letters I never sent but wanted to"
teaching the raddest group of college freshman in all the land
bleaching the ends of my hair vato orange.