“I think I need to experience ego death” is scrawled in looping script across two pages of my journal, a keepsake from an especially taxing Sunday a week before spring break. Don’t worry! Even then, I saw the ridiculousness of …
I call my mother at an average rate of once per week. Historically, I have called mostly to cry, sometimes to whine and once, during my sophomore fall, when the leaves on the trees by Reed House hung down like …
It’s been a sleepless few weeks. Believe me, I have tried; I have googled “sleep hygiene” and followed directions to the letter: chamomile tea, clean sheets, counting backwards from 10,000 under the tender guidance of Andy from Headspace. No Luck! …