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The inmate in cell 22 has very blonde hair. When she first came to jail, it was blue, but the hard water and less than great shampoo options have caused it to fade. She wears big glasses with frames that go from her eyebrows to her cheek bones. The lenses make her squinty eyes look huge, and when she pushes them up she uses her first finger on her right hand. She is missing her four front teeth which causes her top lip to fold around that part of her mouth, you can tell she’s not super comfortable because when she smiles, she tries to hide it.

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TW: I don't go too much into detail, but if you dislike discussions about death, or can't handle conversations about it, go ahead and skip this one. 

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There seems to be a lot of overlap between my undergrad social life and my graduate social life... Not that I really have a social life. But in any case, it feels dramatic to me. 

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     Her key slid into the lock of her front door as easily as she had hoped. It had been a long day, and it showed in her disheveled hair and wrinkly shirt. She let out a deep sigh as she opened the door. Stepping over the threshold, she tried to clear her mind, but it was proving to be a difficult task today. The door closed behind her with a quiet ka-thunk as she draped her blazer and purse over the dining room chair closest to the door. Slowly, and while grabbing onto the back of the chair, she slipped her left shoe off, and then the right. Her feet ached as she hobbled over to the couch under her west-facing window. She loved coming home to her apartment, her sanctuary in the evening. She reveled in the beautiful Colorado sunsets that she had the perfect view of. She loved to watch the sky change colors as the sun sank behind the mountains, and she loved how it painted the room different colors. Just as suddenly as she flopped down onto the couch, she heard an excited, “meow”, and the thump of her cat jumping off her bed. The girl smiled as she listened to the pitter-patter of the cat’s little feet, preparing herself to be pounced on.

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I do believe that Richard and I can agree that we are each other's best friends. Whether that comes from our parents' threats of us being all we have left after they're gone, I'm not sure. But he's right, some relationships cannot be described with the word "friendship". It's too simple. 

I left high school with a bad taste for friendship in my mouth. I started college with a low bar for friendship, but little did I know that my standers would grow by January. 

  1. The Short Adventures of an Undergrad now Grad student: A conversation about death
  2. The Short Adventures of an Undergrad: When things end