Small Print

While my previous post was a rather dreary and miserable return to WP, I’d just like to clarify that I have never known true depression. It is not an affliction with which I wish to endure under pretense. No, so many beautiful people suffer from its drowning pressures, and I do not want to pretend for a second that I can comprehend what that’s like.

Rather, I am here in an emotional trench, similarly deep and solid as the icy pathways outside this winter. It is difficult to find the motivation to step into that freezing, wintry world and travel so many vehicular minutes to my temporary destination working with tomorrow’s children.

Small Print

Veekly Recrap

Thought I might catch you up on my mundane weekly happenings… Finals and project deadlines are approaching. Delightful. I’ll be studying abroad in Scandinavia in just 4 weeks, so I plan to upkeep my blog for the duration of that glorious, 6-week trip!

Monday: Registration for the fall at 7:40 AM. ‘Twas insane to register for my first on-campus clinical practicum before even completing my Intervention Course. Before my summer abroad break from the practicum sequence. Boyfriend was also supposed to register for his online prereqs on Monday, and then we hit the routine bumps in the process. I feel like his administrative stuff for college is just never easily resolvable. 

Tuesday: Bullshitted* through my AM class. Bullshitted through my 2 hour break. Handled Abie’s registration business during my Psych elective. I was literally THE helping hand. I was emailing registrar people, advisors, testing sites back and forth for nearly 2 hours, signing of as Mr. Boyfriend. After volumes of “Dear this person,” “Dear that person,” and “To Whom This May or May Not Fucking Concern but please respond ASAP,” I exhaustedly logged out of his online university and exited the NYU building. As I was engaging in the undulating back and forth with web advisors, my friend leaned over and asked me why the hell I was enrolling in external classes. I laughed. Imagine?

Wednesday: Was my shadow client’s birthday! So he didn’t come to therapy. It was a little sad, because he has one session left… and I really enjoy working with him. He’s a fantastically kind person, and so motivated to improve his speech.

Thursday: One of the clinic favorites came to speak with us about her journey with aphasia and therapy. I was initially irritated about being forced from my tempur-pedic bliss that morning to spend an hour and a half listening to yet another client presentation. But, my god, how the tears pooled in my eyes during her speech. She was 28 and independent — she forbade the symptoms of her neurogenic decline to stand in the way from her dreams. She was charming, she was hilarious, relatable, kind-hearted, and most importantly, she was a survivor and a champion. And she belongs to a French Bulldog club. I walked out of there a different person, as I always am when I am enlightened by the beauties who seek us out for communication aid. 

Later, my two besties and I visited the Cloisters in the Heights. I hadn’t been there in … man, like 10 years? All I remembered was a castle on the water. While the edifice and all items within were lovely and medieval, I couldn’t help but appreciate that we three had a similar museum-going trait — look, nod, and move along.

C and I met up with my aunt, and we discussed the intricacies of perfect relationships and heartbreak, their connectivity and the vitality of experiencing the latter to truly reign in true love. Between these discussions, we were interrupted by a B-rated restaurant and its own fleet of waterbugs, honest customers, confused Labradors, canvas hunting, and sweaty train rides, we bonded as we usually do on long nights — like the Gemini twins we truly are (same exact birthday, same time), like the intellectual mates and family members so many wish to have. I recounted to my aunt the story of our client, and her strength. Now, we are both thinking of her on a daily basis.

Friday: Freedom! My first day away from training seminars, 6-hour electives, tutoring little girls, and study groups. 

Saturday: Tutored my teenager for a few hours. I’m really just her study buddy.. she rarely needs help. I don’t know. Maybe one day, I’ll be a parent and understand this. After that, Boy and I got lost in a pet shop by chance. We thought we were on a quest for soft serve ice cream… but Fate brought us to the lair of this Rottie baby girl.


MY GODDDDD HOW I WANTED HER! Boy and I were permitted (GODDAM THIS OWNER) to privately sit in a cubicle and play with her.  For like 20 mins. How she loved us! How I texted my parents and begged! I just kept reminding myself that it was fair to no one except me, in the short term. I’m going abroad soon and my parents are done with puppies. That afternoon, I spent a lot of time watching this video over and over again:

This debacle was followed by movie night with K and Boy. First time I ever saw The Goonies… I felt like I had missed a radical portion of Kiddom once the movie was over. 

Sunday: Lounge and tutor… and here I sit, watching the end of the first period of the Rangers-Pens game. Sorry, watching the Rangers screw up every Power Play they earn. 

In summation, more things blossomed than these late spring flowers.



*Bullshitted: (v) past-tense; doing OTHER homework during class time because this procedure is more efficient than notetaking.

Veekly Recrap