It’s the middle of the quarter and I’m tired. Constant fatigue looms over me during the last third of my Junior year. Is it always this way? I feel like the damp washcloth of a child, forgotten on a rail post, accumulating the stain of rust on my cheeks. Is it bad to feel this dirty, irritated and lethargic? I don’t try. I haven’t been trying. I won’t try. And yet I...
As atrocious as they can be, I want a pair of clogs. Delightfully chunky, stomping around. Clogs are the 1990s jelly shoe of the 20-year-old fashionista. Sometimes, I feel like these fashion anomalies are out of place or forced, but in the end, they all become something I want. I’ve been wanting a pair of sandal clogs since last summer. It’s been an infuriating and relieving...