October 2018

I would say that when it comes to life advice, I am an expert in a few categories. I can recommend a really good fake tanner that isn’t streaky and lasts a long time. I can tell you where to get the best turkey and avocado sandwich in the United States (the Texas Wave at Hester’s Cafe in Corpus Christi, TX). I can also let you know that Birkenstocks don’t look good on anybody, and that is not an opinion, that is an established fact.

I was eating at Chick-fil-A with my mom when she asked me if I felt loved.

When Jensen Montambault was an undergraduate at UVA, she chose to divide her time between two disparate fields of study--Environmental Science and English Literature. She went on to obtain a doctorate in Interdisciplinary Ecology and has since written extensively about climate change and its impact on modern societies.

Rule #1:  Do not deny yourself the actual human emotion of being nervous. That’s ok. Chances are, the only reason you are nervous is because you’re creating something “unconventional.” Remember that your race and your stories do not make you unconventional.

Rule #2:  With that said, do not show that you are too nervous. Don’t give them any excuse to pity you or your work.

She raised the tequila to her lips and tilted her head back. It would take some time for the confidence to set in, so she waited.

“I have a paper due tomorrow. I don’t really give a shit. I’m going to wake up early to finish up my conclusion,” said the guy standing next to her at the bar. He had bought her the shots, roping her into a conversation she had no desire to be apart of.

two empty bottles of Advil lying askew, another only a quarter full sits upright

an ice pack long gone warm slouches against a dirty mug

an empty pack of menthol juul pods perches on top a mound of dirty cotton pads,

smudged and smeared with mascara that was supposed to be waterproof

The Good Old song of Wa-hoo-wa

We’ll sing it o’er and o’er,

But never did they tell us of

The years of pain and gore.

We desecrated tombs and graves 

To mock and thea’trize horr’r,

We brutalized black bo-odies

1. When I was in elementary school, my mom used to style my hair in cornrows. No pretty design, no cute bubbles, just straight Carmelo Anthony cornrows. I looked like a boy from ages 8-11.

I was at a sleepover for my best friend’s birthday party when I saw my first and last scary movie. It was Orphan, and afterward I had to lie on an uncomfortable couch and try to fall asleep. I knew I never wanted to watch anything like that again.

In an old gym with wooden bleachers, a high school girls varsity basketball team plays their heart out in a game against a longtime rival. The bleachers are half empty, but the fans and parents fill the echoing room with enough enthusiastic cries that the space feels full. This game is important to the girls in a way that only athletes can understand.

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The hypochondria comes at night. Always at night.           

She slithers in through the window along with the breeze. The air that was once fresh becomes rancid and noxious. Fumes of anxiety and self-doubt twist and hang in the air. “You should Google your symptoms,” she whispers, her voice soft and soothing. “It will help.” She strokes my arm lovingly and curls against my chest.