bunks.

Life as a Spudent is back in full swing. The grass is green and the leaves are starting to turn.

We'll meet the 38 girls we'll be living with tonight at the super exciting mandatory floor meeting. Last year I wasn't prepared for the "hey, tell us something about yourself" question that was thrown at us in the first 2 1/2 minutes of sitting in the room full of beautiful strangers. Cassie pulled it together in time to avoid entering the ultra-awkward zone before the hot spot made it's way to our part of the room. Her answer sounded something like, "Uhhhhh Iiii I really like toast. A lot."
Genius. Not too personal and certainly not typical.

And we miss that girl we called Tig. A whole lot.

So here we are in the room we named the treehouse. Twinkle lights, blankets scattered, and Vogue pages and photographs covering every piece of white. We love our house.

Reunions are the best. Ever.
So much yelling. So many hugs.

In other news, I sleep on a top bunk nowadays. The lack of a child-please-don't-fall-of-the-bed bar was at first completely terrifying. But, thank the heavens, my sleeping body stayed exactly where it needed to be.

So good to be here.
So many photographs to share.
...I just need to find outlets for all of my technology that is right now lacking its share of electricity.

More to come.
I could probably write a book about first day of classes. Or an entire book about the interesting pronunciation variations that come with professors reading my name off of that sheet of paper for the very first time.

6,602,224,175

So maybe, “why?” is a dead end. Maybe a lucid definition is for comfort's sake more than for truth's sake.
Asking the answers to reveal themselves to you in a way that you see fit: an insult to the question, to narrow the answer's validity to your idea of lucidity.

green.

Mmmm, no green chile hamburger for me. No way, jose. I'll take that salad that lives in the lonely corner of your delicious sounding menu. Dressing? Nah... that stuff is for the normal kids. You can leave it off. Also, a diet coke and a new digestive system would be great.

So maybe my days of eating KFC and boxes of cosmic brownies are over. And that's really okay because egg substitute, rice cheese product, brown rice bread, and almond milk aren't nearly as awful as they sound. A little mysterious, but not awful.
And I find great joy in watching family members accidentally eat my looks-kind-of-like-cheddar-cheese substitute or take a bite of a deceivingly delicious looking almond butter and jam on fake bread sandwich.

i killed a stinkbug.

It was hideous. I couldn't clean it up. I had air freshener in one hand and about 78345 paper towels in the other. I stood there for like 10 minutes. Staring at the shoe that lived on top of the pile that once was a bug. Whining.

And then Austin dances in. "Really, Flo?" he says. (Flo being my ultra-flattering Dumb and Dumber-inspired nickname that was given to me after I started to work at a restaurant where there exists a soup of the day.)
He shakes his head. Then sends the sad creature down the toilet.

I have such a terrible rep of only half-exterminating insecty things around here.
Oops.