December 2: I went into an apartment today, and all of the girls shared the same oats and brown sugar and flour in little jars on a table in the dining room. Everyone mostly agreed on what happened where. And sometimes they shared jeans. I spent five hours of my night in the theatre talking to different boys about how pure they are. I don’t know if they know what that means. And the best things happen unexpectedly.
December 3: The Skinny Pancake downtown smells good and it’s open and when I went in people were surrounded by little lights on dates. It’s so cold, my phone froze to death at 65 percent. I walked into the terminal station to charge it. It’s the first snowy weekend that everyone can ski. When I went to the lacrosse party everyone’s ski gear was out in a little pile in the corner of their basement.
December 4: The sun is shining and the mountains are yellow and white. I am at Muddy Waters. They don’t have wifi, which is annoying, but I’m using a free trial from Xfinity. I got a house chai latte and I’m going to write a little and do some chemistry. The piano kicked in, Lonely by Mean Lady, and I started crying. My latte is cold and I think I’m going to stay here.
Finals. It’s under thirty eight degrees the rest of the week. My coffee cups are stained and the brims are salted with natural sugar, my lipstick is smudging on the edge of my forks and spoons and traveling to my chin. Two a.m. showers are becoming more frequent and I am writing more in the margins of my calculus notes than ever before.
Wanderer Wandering – Slow Club
17 – Youth Lagoon
Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby – Cigarettes After Sex
This Must Be the Place – Talking Heads
These Days – Nico
Cherry – Chromatics
Rosa – Grimes
I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight – Richard and Linda Thompson
I Need Fun in My Life – The Drums
You Make Me Wanna Die – The Shivas
Wall Fuck – Flume
This is a song
Heavy metal drummer – Wilco
Playing With Fire – Nick Leng
Lust for Life – Girls
California Stars (Live) – Wilco
The Russian house smells like really cheap perfume, strawberry vape, and cigarettes. It’s starting to seep into my clothing. My roommate cleaned the sink over break. I forgot how nice it was to go to bed completely clean, slicked down in coconut oil in a big t-shirt. I’m feeling more and more like I can do it. I eat cereal in my Dave’s Coffee mug with almond milk I should probably refrigerate.
This doesn’t feel final like the tests suggest. This feels like a transition. The card deck is shuffling. The boy in my spanish class seems more like a dream every day I don’t try to talk to him. He goes off to a dining hall and I stop to buy pita bread and coffee downstairs before I go to my last chem lab. He is from my favorite city, he listens to Mac Demarco. His jacket is the same as Wyatt’s in a more cobalt blue than Michael’s. Sometimes I stop back in my room to put on eyeliner, to wash my hands, just to make sure that if he ever wants to talk to me my eyes aren’t so small and my hands show no signs of an inked home countdown.
Today I opened a can of chickpeas with a screwdriver and accidentally poured corrosive acid on my fresh papercut. Everything is grey and dark and feels like a saltwater pool. My lipstick shed onto my spoons and coffee cups and cheese block. Sixteen more days. But it’s not so bad.