Bliss.

I'm so excited but so scared at the same time.
How do I tell her I'm leaving?
How do I tell her it's not her fault but kind of is her fault but that even if she tried harder it wouldn't have changed a thing?

The truth is, I never wanted to like her. I just felt like I needed to, and I'm not used to someone not naturally becoming a friend when they are in such close proximity.

I shouldn't be so concerned.

Bridges.

Obviously, I've always known that Manhattan is an island, but when you're in the heart of it, you forget so easily that it's surrounded by water and these fantastic, gorgeous bridges that you only see if you're on either the coast, or like me, at the tip.

On the bus ride to school, which sounds ridiculous because in college you shouldn't need a bus, I see three bridges. From my apartment window, I see my favorite bridge in all of the United States, possibly the world, but I'll know that better once I go to Prague.

It's cliché to think like this, but I find bridges to be so powerfully beautiful, so magnificent. The idea behind a bridge is equally clichéd, simply because most people use the phrase "burning bridges." Why burn a bridge? They're wonderful. You'll never get across otherwise. There's no reason to forget everything. Because if you don't look at that bridge, you'll never remember where you were before.

Warehouses

I don't know who decided to start having massive ragers in warehouses, but whoever it was must have been a pretty cool guy. We start the night by an overwhelming concern of being lost in an area of Brooklyn where most of us have never been. For a bit, things look pretty nice, like a little bit of the suburbs more closely built up, and the hideous presence of the BQE. We end up in what seems to have been a previously industrialized area that has died down since industry has pretty much vacated the five boroughs. Obviously we know the way.

Enter stage two, dancing on a stage after a couple beers and after having several more, someone ends up on a table. Running into people I know via 6 degrees of separation, I am slowly finding myself overwhelmingly intoxicated, knowing in the back of my head it will soon be time to leave. Dancing, feeling good about the current situation and the people I'm with, I see Paulie Bleecker. We kiss and he tells me his name is Ricky - a "pre-med student like everyone else living on the coolest floor in Lafayette" - but that I can call him Michael. As in Michael Cera. As in, if I were sober, I would have laughed and walked away, but being drunk and thinking this guy actually looks like Michael Cera, I go with it.

I woke up still drunk and somehow managed to make bracelets for four hours with 5 year olds. I amaze myself.

At least I stayed sober for the better half of yesterday.

Photographs

It's still so wild to me that so much time has passed. I looked at some old photos from two summers ago and it's hard to believe that I am here, a sophomore in college, trying to figure out my major and what I am going to do with the rest of my life. That summer holds so many of my favorite memories. I look at old photos of me, Ava, and Valerie, and my heart just swells and it's such a beautiful emotion I can hardly describe it. My babies.

I can't believe it's almost Halloween. It was just September. I can't believe I voted. I can't believe that this time next year, if all goes as planned, I will be living in Europe. I don't know what will happen when I graduate and leave Alexis, Kyle, Chris, or Amanda. I don't even want to go home for Christmas.

Growing up is getting harder. Can't I go back to last year?

Drunk?

I always surprise myself when I'm drunk. This time was a real kicker. Walking towards the Bedford Ave station in Brooklyn, going to a party I had no business going to, going to an apartment I really didn't need to go to - except for the possibility of coke, which I didn't really want anyway - I make a phone call that I still can't determine to be wise or not. I am unsure of why I called Cory in my drunken stupor in the process of getting onto the subway. I invite him over.

"You're a coward and a fluzy. I wonder how straight your spine really is. Call me when you're ready to pull your shit together." He shows up, tells me I'm not date-able, but that my motivation and hard working skills are extremely sexy. Hi, I'm an extremely unmotivated, crazed out of my face, 22 year old still getting a B.A., and that means I'm interested in girls who work hard and are essentially the "antithesis" of myself. You have to be joking me.

Something about Cory always proves to be so overwhelmingly sincere that I can't help but open my door to him and let him lay next to me. After he calls me spineless a few more times and I tell him he's pathetic, he asks me the last time I got laid. I describe everything for him and he's in shock. In shock at how pathetic my sex life is and was and how pathetic I am for not allowing myself to have a sex life for fear that sex will never be enjoyable ever again. But I'm a respectable girl, which makes me more attractive, so he wouldn't pressure me. So I went to sleep.

We'll see if I get any more calls after that.

I'm jealous about Kyle's sexcapades. That's not a good sign.

My dreams are really out of control.

This is ridiculous. For months you haunted my dreams, and then it stopped for months, now it starts again, and now I'm dreaming about him and you and this is all too strange, too bizarre.

As Amanda put it: "You're dreaming about two things that comfort you, or one that comforted you in the past and now is being replaced by the other."

But, I really don't want to think about him like that. It's not fair. No more.

I've been feeling inspired lately. I think I might start carrying my notebook again and write. I still want to be the Poet Laureate.

Right.

Anorexia.

What gives? How do you fucking people do it?