Last Place Olympian

Sinking, sinking, sinking, crash

Where is that noble buoyancy

That dad told me all of us humans have when we’re swimming

Because it’s part of biology?

It’s cold down here

Icy and dark where I can’t

See a damn thing

And even though I’d like to

I can’t get past the amount of time I spent

Swimming, swimming, swimming

Learning all the strokes and paddles to

Get to where I am now.

Maybe resilience doesn’t come from

A natural, internal floating mechanism

But from telling yourself that

YES – swimming is fun! Swimming is easy!

I can swim through Jell-O if I tried.

And while I write in metaphor

The tragic irony of this seasonal sadness happens to

Lie in the fact that

I cannot swim at all.

Last Place Olympian

My logorrhea has been less than chronic.

I was right when I predicted that graduate school would consume my being; I was right because I am quite literally being trained for THE REST OF MY LIFE, for my CAREER, and essentially, my LIVELIHOOD, until I reach the ripe, brown-spotted age of retirement. I took a break from health care training for the past day or two (time just melds together now). I spent quality time with my boyfriend, learned that my mother thinks I will marry my boyfriend, and got a professional-ass “curly expert” haircut for the small sum of $0. Productive set of off-days, I’d say. My hair is certainly killin’ it, but I’m sure this evening glory will wilt once I wake to face the school day.

In other and contradicting news, I really want to take care of something small and cuddly. You’re right, if you’re questioning my ability to mother something at this point in time. I probably DON’T have the time and definitely not the money to sustain life right now. But it doesn’t change the fact that I regret leaving this lovebug so many months ago…


My logorrhea has been less than chronic.

day 1.

Jenn, Amanda, and I [naturally] ended up with nearly identical programs, without even trying. I like that. I’m quite glad to see that two girls to whom I’ve gradually grown closer are actually composed of the stuff of FRIENDSHIP. It’s as if Harry, Ron, and Hermione were a homogenous entity of three snarky brunettes obsessed with neurons and human behavior. 

So there we sat, in Speech Science Instrumentation, damning our misfortune! Why must we conduct MORE ACOUSTIC ANALYSES .. at 9:30am once a week?! Was one undergraduate lesson not enough? Was the theme of post bacc NOT founded on simple harmonic motion of air particles? And I have to download Praat again… can you guys hear me weeping? That application resembles prehistoric cave paintings, if they were posted to a Mac OSX platform.

Why is this coming up AGAIN?

AND WHY ARE THE PROFESSORS ALWAYS TERRIBLE SPEAKERS OF ENGLISH?! CSD PROGRAMS! ATTENTION! The irony must have slipped right by you, just as my attention slipped as Prof stumbled over the word “fundamental.” Really.

Other than that, I predict this course will be cake. Boring as FUCK. But easy enough. 

day 1.

Summertime sadness, from a collegiate perspective

Those two weeks before school begins:

Aching, writhing, loathing; bursting, grinning, cheering. The paradoxical feelings before you commit another consecutive 9+ months to an institution. I, personally, adore being educated; I could sit in a lecture hall for hours with a [talented] professor. 

And in my case, a Masters degree sits brightly on the horizon, two years down the line. Two years after many gifted and brilliant instructors, 400 hours of clinical experience and training, days of bonding with my peers and future colleagues, and endless nights of studying or crashing in the Village. I am so very excited to start in two weeks, but classes will strip me of my fleeting summertime freedoms from now until 2015. And in 2015, I will begin my career… which means…


Crash! Boom! FIRE. Fire explodes from deep within my sulci in gyri, setting my thoughts aflame. Did I just run out of young adulthood? This suddenly seems scarier than shitting my pants. 

Please press pause for a moment, and slow down the infinite spool of film from which my life is spinning away. NYU just trolled my existence.

But it’s okay, right? I’m ready for adulthood. I’m ready to spend every day, not just weekends, with the love of my life. I’m ready to raise and take care of my own puppy, and to go grocery shopping, pay the rent, make solid choices for myself… 

No summer breaks means no parents explaining your own life to you. I suppose that is well worth the sacrifice.

Summertime sadness, from a collegiate perspective