We’re 6 roommates, on summer vacation before our sophomore year and we take turns planning our nights. Last night was Sunny’s choice so we found ourselves at “Sister Louisa's Church,” one of the fun gay bars in this little college town. We’ve been to 5 LGBTQ bars in the Atlanta area this summer and they’ve all been skittles.

This being a Lesbian bar, we all felt empowered to dress down, dance a few times, and just have some harmless fun. “Hmm.., Sunny said, wrinkling her nose, “I think queer or girly are better terms than lesbian. Lesbian seems to have a mascular take - like we want to be boys - and that’s not it at all.”
“I bow to your superior, informed, cultural finickiness,” Lisa noted.

WE dance a few times but Sunny never stops. One moment Sunny’s there, for a swig of her drink and the next, she’s twiring off with some attractive (30ish?) woman - it keeps happening. “We need to put an apple tracker on her.” Bili said, but when the songs ended she always came back to us.
“That womyn had more than two hands.” Sunny said, gulping on her drink and fixing her hair.

It was time to go, past time actually. We’re on a schedule these days. We spend our mornings playing disc golf or water-skiing and our afternoons studying. We’re trying to re-engage with college work in a gradual, 3 hour a day, low anxiety way.

Sunny (A molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major), Lisa and I (Molecular biophysics and biochemistry majors) are all on the pre-med track. Next year we’ll tackle physics together and we’re already grinding away on examples of the problem-sets we’ll see next semester. So far the shared stress has helped the next-level classes seem easier and more engaging.

I was the watchdog last night, sentenced to preventive sobriety, and tasked with corralling everyone when the time came to leave. “Fair warning!,” I said loudly, between songs, “reality is going to *****-stab you ladies in the back tomorrow morning.”
“I think you mean *****-SLAP,” Leong said, ever the aphorism police.
“Whatever it is, it’s going to hurt.” I amended. I’d been working (whining), stubbornly for half-an-hour to convince them to leave and finally, I said, “I’m texting Charles.”

OH, THEN the girls started gathering their things. “Ok, Yeah.., I see how it is.” I added, holding my phone like a grenade with the pin out.

The following morning Anna’s situationship broke up - by text - as if to add to the pain of her hangover. In situationships, it’s inevitable that one stakeholder will hope for more - but you have to paint it as casual, as no big deal. She’s pretending she doesn't care but anyone can see she’s been crying.

On the other side of the emotional universe - I’m riding-a-high - because Peter, on a facetime call, said he missed me - but it’s not just that - he seems more energetic, interested and actually romantic. I like us together. We’re choral (there’s no definable lead). I’m practically snoopy-dancing around the house.

It once belonged to imagination
Science-fiction novels
Apocalyptic movies
Scary jokes,
Our worst nightmares.

It once was free for all,
No one being could claim
Property over the volatile
Substance.
No one being would dare,
Fearing the rise of horror
And rage.

New businesses for lingering
Problems.
Failure to succeed in taking care
Naturally resolves
In stakeholder’s revenue.
Air in a bottle.

Vitality from Canadian Rockies
160 breaths for 24 dollars.
Canned air to be taken
Tongue-in-cheek.

Aethaer from British countryside
103 dollars a jar.
“Environmental-political artwork”
Giving birth to absurdity.
Notions of “air farming”.

Companies cashing in
On pollution selling
Trendy fashionable designer
Pollution masks,
From 33 to 100 dollars
A piece.

Little or no benefits
On health for desperate
Populations, willing to pay
The price set on air,
To compensate.

Thick smog from factories
Invisible poisons from vehicle exhausts
Seven million people dying
From breathing
Smoke, gases and soot
Pumped into the atmosphere.
For profit.

Just the other day I was out in the woods where I used to play around as a kid, the rocks and small mounts where I would on wet and slippery moss skid, but that was years ago by now all the trees had gotten rid, laying about in masses and twigs and branches just spread out like a battlefield, god forbid.

The old pond where when there were rough winters and the ice were thick enough we would compete who furthest slid, where thick brush and large tree trunks we could see who best hid, to think that all that glee and all that childish joy I just put a lid, worrying now over how my credit balance does on the grid, how much on the dream house I should bid.

It's a strange feeling growing up and wishing you were older and when you get old you wish that you were young and still had that chip on your shoulder, now carrying doubts and fears on your shoulders like a boulder, wishing that you were not the one being the stakeholder, but I suppose it's all in the eternal eyes of the beholder, but god I wish I never got older.