So there’s a toga party tonight… followed by a bikini party… so basically it’s going to produce some of the best blog pictures ever. I will post those as soon as possible.

Do any of you ever wonder what the hell we’re doing? Why am I taking cultural theory? What difference does it make if I can tell that Terminator three is actually a metaphor for oral rape and a fear of technology?

And then I remember the feeling that I felt when it clicked in class–that it all made sense and the world continued to prove to me that life doesn’t come in simple little separated packets–it all blends together.

Does that make any sense? I’m here because I like to push back at the world: to understand it and learn about it and figure out what is impossible to figure out. Shit, I love college.

I just don’t love homework.

Anyways, here’s the past couple of days. Just for you, darlings. ❤

I am far to lazy remember where all these pieces come from. If you really want to know, ask. Merci!

Sometimes people make us sad.

Sometimes they make us cry.

Sometimes they break our hearts.
For some reason I have the strong desire to share with you today. So here is a story about a girl and a mother. You should tell me what you think… it would mean a lot to me.


I feel vaguely nauseous. That’s a lie. I’m completely nauseous.

As I creep down the hall, the dark greenish lighting did not lift my mood. Biting my lip, I lean my head against the door to my mother’s apartment, listening intently. Mice ran circles around the inside of my stomach.

“Liar! Fucking liar!” I hear my mom scream, her voice hoarse and slurred. The mice in my stomach began to bite me. Taking deep slow breaths, I push the door open and stand just inside the apartment, listening again. Silence buzzes in my ears as I slowly close the door. Suddenly, something heavy and made of glass slams against the inside my mom’s room and I hear a man’s yelp through the open crack of her door. I flinch at the loud, lethal crunching noise. Tears come to my eyes and I take silent steps into my room.

I stand in my room and take deep breaths, trying to let the blues and purples that I love calm me. When the prickly tear feeling fades from the back of my eyes, I tiptoe towards my best friend. “Sorina,” I whisper, touching her shoulder. At one in the morning, she looks as beautiful as ever, fast asleep. Her dyed, fiery red hair spirals across my silver silk pillows. “I’m so sorry, please wake up,” I beg. From the other room, I hear incoherent shouts pick up again. I begin to tremble, but I can’t just leave her down here. I shake her shoulder harder, apologizing profusely.

Finally, her green-brown eyes flutter open, with a look of confusion, “Wha?”

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, and find that I cannot look her in the eye, this girl that I tell everything to. “My mom and Arek are fighting. I need you to come to the roof with me. Sarah and Dee are already up there.” Sorina is exhausted, I can tell, but she nods and gets up. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I repeat this again and again, even as we’re in the hallway, waiting for the elevator. Somehow, I can’t get myself to shut up.

In the elevator, we stare at each other, deadpan and tired. “She was drunk off her ass.” I sigh. Sorina crosses the elevator and hugs me just as the door opens on to the roof. We step into the glass sitting rooms, and through the glass we can see Dee and Sarah jumping around, laughing and acting crazy. Behind them, the lights Chicago glisten in a midnight blue sky.

We step out of the room and are immediately affronted by large gusts of wind. Sarah shrieks at us and continues to dance. Dee grins maniacally and uses her long legs to leap towards us. “What’s up?” They are oblivious. We don’t respond, but sit against the glass wall, high up on top of stacked lawn chairs. The chairs creak underneath us.

Dee giggles and prances away, then shoves Sarah in our direction. She laughs; the wind is so strong up on this roof that it blows her closer. She comes to a jarring halt in front of us. She is smiling, and her mass of brown hair is blowing all over. “What’s you guy’s problem?” She demands, placing her frail hand’s on her scrawny hips. “Have some fun, why don’t cha?”

I want to scream at her. I want to shout ‘BECAUSE MY MOTHER AND HER BOYFRIEND ARE GOING TO KILL EACH OTHER ANY MINUTE NOW!’ But I don’t. I don’t because it’s not her fault that this happened. What could she do about the fact that my going away party was completely ruined? She couldn’t make my drunken mother care. Care that her daughter was going to be gone for a month and this was the last she’d see of her dearest friends and family until school started. No, it’s wasn’t Sarah’s fault that my mother couldn’t stay sober for the one weekend I invited my friends over. Instead I reply, “we’re just tired, okay? Go have fun.” And she does. Her and Dee dance in the wind like four year olds, leaping and spinning, and holding hands. For and hour and a half they do this, once in a while trying to get us to join in the fun. Sorina, meanwhile, curls up, lays her head on my thigh, and promptly falls asleep, snarling at anyone who attempts to move her.

I check my phone. Two thirty-four in the morning. They must have stopped by now. Quietly, I convinced Sarah and Dee to come back down, that it’s time to go to sleep. They chatter all the way down, and I feel like we’re in that stupid florescent-lit elevator for hours. Alas, only a few short minutes. When I open the door to the apartment, Arek is walking towards the bathroom. The side of his head and his nose are bleeding sluggishly. The mice are back, and they’re crawling up my neck, trying to get me to throw up. I hold it back and lead the girls into my room. This doesn’t add much safety: the doors are French with window panes.

Sarah grabs my arm frantically, her nails digging into my skin. Her blue-green eyes are large. “Did you see him?” She hisses. “He’s bleeding!” Oh, now she gets it. Her eyes search my face, waiting for a rational that’s not coming.

I’m too tired for this. Yanking my arm away, I hiss, “Can we just go to sleep, please?” Sorina has already gone back asleep, and we spread out around her on the floor. Almost immediately, Sarah and Dee are fast asleep. I get up and tiptoe out into the living room. Arek is sitting on the couch, a washcloth to his head. “Is Mommy here?” My voice sounds frail and I feel much younger then my 16 years. Arek gestures to the bedroom. I wander over and knock on the door, “Mommy?” When she doesn’t answer, I open the door. My mom is in bed, but I can tell she’s awake by the lack of snoring. I’m thankful for the lack of light, so I can’t see how hurt she most likely is. Slowly, I crawl into bed next to her and stroke her short blond hair.

She sighs, and I can almost taste the alcohol in the air. “I’m sorry, sweetie” she murmurs, and I can feel myself forgiving her already. “Are your friends alright?”

“Yes,” I whisper, “its okay.”

We lay in silence for a while, and then my mom explains that they had gone to a party at Paulette’s, my mom’s best friends. Then, she said, Arek just disappeared. In a drunken rage that he had left her alone, my mother came home to find Arek doing crack in their bedroom. Things exploded after that. I nod and murmur, “its okay, I understand.” even though I don’t. Eventually, I go back to my room. Lying between Sarah and Sorina, I fall into a fitful sleep, woken a couple times to more shouts. I wake completely when the living room light is turned on, flooding lights into my room. I look up to my mom opening the door, shrouded in shadow. I sit up as she reaches out to me, and we grasp hands.

“I’ll be back in the morning, love,” she whispers, a smile on her face, “Go to sleep, I love you.” As quickly as she came, my mom is gone, leaving me dumbfounded and more worried then ever. Where the hell was she going? Scared and confused, I found relief soon later in a dreamless sleep.

I wake up early, like I always have, and began to search the kitchen for food. Arek comes out of the bedroom, limping and holding his beefy hand over his ribcage. He looks worried, but tries to play it off. “Morning, kiddo.”

I nod to him. He walks over gently pushes me away from the open freezer, pulling out a large raspberry Danish. “Sound good?” I nod again. He puts it in the oven, and then sighs. “We need to talk.”

Together, we walk over to the bedroom. In the light, I can see the real damage of last night’s chaos. A splash of blood is imbedded into the peach colored carpet. Clothes, shoes, money and God knows what else is everywhere. It looks like a tornado crashed. When I point to the open window, Arek laughs darkly, “You’re mom threw my clothes out the window.” Numbly, I sit on the bed. Arek begins to pace in front of me. “You know I love you, kid. And I love your mom. I’ve always loved you guys.” I’m nodding, but my heart has shut off, and all emotions refuse to break through. I feel like I’m swimming, no drowning, in a vast pool, and everyone else has gotten out.

Arek is crying now, pained, gasping sobs. Every once in a while, he chokes and holds his hand to his ribs. I stare at him expectantly. “Look.” He says between sobs. “I don’t know what else to tell you, so I’m just going to tell you.” He sit’s down next to me, and I lean my head against his shoulder. The tears have stopped. “Your mother got taken to jail last night. That’s where she is now.”