We are the multitasking generation. We pride ourselves on being 20 places at once, operating eight different electronic devices, all while chewing gum and writing a term paper at the […]

Every relationship is meant to fail, except one. Or at least that’s what I choose to believe. And with all that failure in my future and in my past, I’ve […]

Today I was talking to my roommate about what a stupid and unruly thing attraction is. Frankly, I’m outraged. It’s just so unfair to have even my best intentions, my […]

For most of today, my roommate and I have been sitting side by side on our small blue sofa, each of us sheepishly reading a different installment of the “Twilight” […]

It’s trite but true: small pleasures are really what make life worth living.

I started this semester off so well. I was really on top of it (or at least running alongside of it), but now I’m falling behind. It’s terrible; as the work piles up—burying me in readings and papers—I feel more and more helpless to do anything to stop the carnage.

When I was younger, around eight or nine, I was the master of my own universe.

Not long ago, I waited 45 minutes in line with my roommates to get a free Chipotle burrito.

onight I happened upon my “reverse culture shock” manual. It’s my Xeroxed guide to reentering American life after a semester abroad in New Zealand. This little unstapled book is supposed to help me adjust to the isolation, disorientation, and bouts of rage (because, hey, Missouri is not New Zealand) that I’ll undoubtedly face now that I’m stateside.

Before my first year at Wash. U., fear outweighed excitement. And I think, looking back, that I was more afraid of my freshman roommate (nothing personal) than I was of Gen. Chem. I had no idea what it would be like to live with someone my own age—someone likely to be very different from me.