today I accidently bumped into this one TA I had in this one Bio class I took back in sophomore year. 

I had a pretty serious (at the time) crush on her. she was 28 which I thought was hot. she was wicked smart and knew a lot about terrestrial ecology and had eyes that looked like an ocelot's. I was pretty smitten. 

one time when we were doing field research in the meadow, she arrived 45 minutes late wearing an indigo Wu Tang Clan tshirt and red poison oak rashes on both wrists. everyone took off pretty quickly after the field trip was done, but I lingered, picking thorns and burs off my socks and side eying her as she transcribed her field notes. I felt like an asswipe, for five silent minutes I tried to tell her how much I loved the song "Da Mystery of Chessboxin'" 

a year later I ran into her at a friend's gig and she had no recollection of me or my face, which was both confusing and a relief at the same time. the whole thing was surreal. that whole month of my life was surreal. the night of the gig she earnestly asked me to order her a drink: "Svedka with drop of vermouth with a glass of olives on the side." she emphasized the "drop of vermouth" part. "yes ma'am." I felt so grown up. mature. turgid with pride. 

until later that night:

"oh my god"

"what?"

“you have those fucking glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling.”

a week full of rocks and thorns has me backing to the depths of my claustrophobic room, back to sending long cathartic emails at 2am to my thesis advisor, to my mother, to my best friend from the 6th grade who is now a wunderkind movie producer.

some days I'll wake feeling weird and light and hopeful. I'll whistle that talking heads song that my friend once tried to convince me was a love ballad. I'll do laundry, I'll crack my knuckles and work and write and go to the gym.  

one evening last week I went for a walk in the woods and saw a modern apollo and artemis arguing in the shade of a laurel tree. apollo was sporting an acryllic splattered hoodie, doc martins and dudebro raybans. he had a harmonica hanging from a rope cord around his neck, I kid you not. artemis was beautiful and disheveled and agitated. she was arguing about climate change and picking at her ripped jeans. if wood nymphs were real I swear they'd be flanking her on both sides. apollo pulled a pack of marlboros from his pocket and walked over to me and asked for a lighter, which then provoked artemis to rotate her glare onto me, which provoked me to freeze like a deer. I was scared that she'd call a pack of wolves on me or something.  apollo smirked a subterfuge smirk.

after I gave him my lighter he said, "it's a blessin to be stressin, my friend. means you're on the right side of the grass."

I am baffled in a bar in the middle of the night for what seems like the millionth time. the server behind the counter somehow makes fleet foxes sound good even in the pinnacle of spring. I can almost imagine snow flurries twirling in the cold night outside. in reality it's 76 degrees F but I feel so cozy I could curl up and hibernate right then and there. 

I'm baffled by the person sitting across from me, the smart but spacey, undervalued girl with the self-cut hair and threadbare tshirt who talks in riddles and loves stray cats.

something is hibernating in both of us, a fire that is underwater. maybe a year from now we will meet again and we will have overcome whatever is smothering us and become the people we dreamed of being when we were six years old.