It would seem that by my Junior year, my cumbersome legs would have developed a calf muscle that could handle the incline of the sidewalk from my front door to Cherry Hall. I have a feeling no amount of previous physical training could prepare any pair of calves for this particular hill, seeing as everyone else seems to struggle just as much as I do. Either way, I refuse to take the bus. The wooden floors of my apartment make it seem so cold. The eerie buzzing of the air conditioner disguises itself as other, more intimidating, noises that no "girl-living-alone" would ever want to bounce off their ear drums. The place is a wreck, but it's home. I love how haunted it seems, almost as if it is the literal translation of the phrase "skeletons in her closet." There's a strange comfort that comes with living alone, almost as if you are suddenly taken seriously since no one knows what it's like to live with you. Maybe I'm overthinking this. Or maybe I'm choosing to grow up a little. Look for me on the hill sometime, I'll be the girl with the serious face. ;)
xoxo,
wes.
