I’ll be at college all summer, working for Public Affairs, painting and experiencing complete independence for the first time. I can hardly keep my mind together over the whole thing. It’s hard thinking that I’m not going home to Philadelphia, to my boyfriend, to the place I’ve spent every summer for the past 20 years. Instead I’ll be in the middle of the midwest, on my own and there’s no longer a boyfriend to go home to. Imagine if life were predicatble.

So what am I left with now? A summer with a friend. A summer to paint. A summer to forget what I’ve left behind, to forget the lost lifetime I lived in my head, to forget everything I wish I couldn’t remember. It will be warm, I suppose. I hear the campus is never as beautiful as it is in July. And maybe in this summer I’ll learn to blossom with the trees, to conquer fear and to love again. It’ll be a summer to grow.

Love as always to my father, the groovy art chick Sarah and Matt, my favorite morose poet. My mailbox is always open.