2015 Year in Review

Photo Credit: Fast Company

January
Grad school applications

February
Dead zone between applications and decisions
Refresh Grad Cafe over and over. And over. And over.

March
Accepted to 6/8 of schools
Decision: Georgetown

April
Give notice
Georgetown alum event
First run in years

May
Move back in with parents
Little sister graduates
Decide it's time to get fit
30 miles at 10:15 pace

June
First 6 mile run
46 miles at 10:01 pace

July
Sign lease on DC apartment
SF Marathon 5k
52 miles at 9:59 pace

August
Move to DC
Start grad school
Make new friends
67 miles at 9:40 pace

September
Georgetown Journal of International Affairs
First 7 mile run
Navy 5 Miler
43 miles at 9:12 pace

October
Grandma passes away
Midterms take hold
Ty's wedding
35 miles at 9:16 pace

November
Make it through midterms
Existential crisis over grad school
First Thanksgiving away from family
22 miles at 9:09 pace

December
Survive finals
First 8 mile run
Visit home
First 10 mile run
80 miles at 8:48 pace

A tumultuous year. Now to reap.

burnt sienna

Photo Credit: ygnaz

The day after Halloween is always a sad one. Walking down the street in a hungover haze, with last night's eyeliner smeared under my eyes, face paint caked under my fingernails, and a mound of responsibilities to get back to, the world seems less bright. The pumpkins have lost their grins, beginning to sag, some broken and chipped, others on their sides now having served their purpose.

And those beautiful autumn leaves that the sun shone through yesterday, that are responsible for color names like "sienna" and "currant," are just "brown" today. They crunch without satisfaction, sending dust into the air, but mostly lay lifeless, no indication of once being green or having experienced golden years.

Today, stores will pull out their ornaments and lights, prop up plush turkeys, and begin advertising those Black Friday. Soon, instead of candy corn frappes, it's pumpkin spice lattes and peppermint mochas. For me, it's some Thanksgiving blend coffee that tastes no different than a seasonless cup. And it shouldn't taste different, because nothing has empirically changed. Except it has.

The sun sets at 4:30, cans of sweet potatoes laden in sugar line the produce section, and an impending winter can't be ignored anymore. Flip flops are thrown to the back of the closet, pea coats flung on the bed to be dry cleaned, and windows shut at night.

Finding Fault with Yet Another Job

From 2007

The breakthrough came early.
I sat between two men,
a veiny Mexican (the driver),
and someone’s grandpa.
I held a foiled container
of bacon in my lap.
The old man’s fleshy elbows
brushed against me when
he buckled his belt. I held the base
up-right so he could click-it.
The thick-armed Mexican
asked me in broken English
      Easy, si?
I nodded, absent of him,
the new job, the loading dock,
the truck full of carts
they expected me to push.
Easy yes, but he would
never again see me at the dock,
in this truck, with sizzling bacon in my lap.
I refused to spend another day
with the fat man’s elbow
hanging near my hips.