mapven

i'm done, she said, working for other people.

and there was left, a little shape beneath the moon.

running with scissors they did one time, just to prove it, i remember.

i went back to that place, briefly.

as a wanderer its easy to become comfortable.

i suppose, well now.  we were lucky to share that bed.

thank you.

she brought me sunflowers, like the poem.

they hang drearily now. 

because i can't take care of things that will die anyway.

how did we ever find each other?  i said.

a miracle.  he said.

and that was that.

and they walked down the street, laughing. 

contributor

i've also started writing here.

i've been burgled

carrie walked downstairs, 7am, from our warm loft-like second story, to the ice cold living room where she found the front window open and my video camera bags laying outside. "happy birthday, we've been robbed" she says, i wake up groggy and voices coming from the hallway by the bathroom. i became twenty-three years old yesterday and woke up thankful my mac and purse were in my bedroom that night, my other roommates had their bags and computers stolen right from our house, out our front window. thankful no one was hurt but feeling very icky that this all happened while we slept, feeling safe in our own beds, as strangers came in and took what they might. mckenna had just uploaded photos from her summer costa rica trip and the camera that was stolen contained footage from cameroon taken a few summers ago that i've never uploaded or edited yet. completely irreplacable footage. my first day in yaounde where we watched a mother giving birth, our first drives down the streets of the city, so many important images and experiences. gone. needless to say, we at the olive, are a little disheartened. there's nothing like feeling violated and unsafe in the one place you are supposed to feel the most secure. frustrated at monetary loss but also mourning the passing of memories a stranger now holds and couldn't care less. i only hope whoever took the stuff in some desperate situation and needs the money more than we do. i suddenly feel an urgency to pull out photos from that summer and remember the faces, the dirt, the smell of cameroon, hoping not to lose it forever.

these photos didn't used to look old

they used to live in germany with him.

the three of us used to be very cute. 

and i used to have awesome bangs. 

the resolution post

no. 

there is nothing about resolutions here, actually.

i am back in monroviatowncalifornia.

from scattering myself around. 

pleasanton. rocklin. san francisco. danville. berkeley. 

i spent christmas with my parents and brother and his fiancee.

i spent new years with some of my best friends. and my love.

new years eve.

still 2008.

it was the city.

and allie's roommate invited us to her room at the hilton.

where we drank cocktails, wore red lipstick. and i told her the news.

we were girls in the bathroom. we stopped in every liquor store

on the way.  little fifth bottles in coat pockets.

walked up more hills than bridges.  

the bus. that was funny. 

ziggy's arm around jess. he'd been eyeing the other one all night.

and he taught us "i may be easy but i ain't cheap" and we laughed.

it took us downtown. 

we ran. 

sprinted.

to union and market. midnite. and barely caught the fireworks.

we all kissed.  and were showered in champagne.

and sang auld lang syne. and i was reminded.

why this is one of my favorite favorite things.

old acquaintances not forgot. and glorious beginnings. 

we took the train back to alex's house.

and cosy, slept next to each other.

sunday

~central casting wed.
~neighbors
~I-9
~envelopes
~register..
~cold hands
~residencies
~jobs and / or school
~ & the importance of education