Garden Fever

So I went to my 2nd-or-3rd college party last night.  It was a dinner party, mind you, with potluck breakfast to boot and a boy who brought a guitar.  Although I had never been to a party like this before (all the while I was plotting to have a dinner party of my own), it would be the second time that I made a special international connection that warmed my heart. Amidst the smells of potato scramble and the soft whoomps of a husky tail as the beautiful beast basked in the 14 guests' admiring attention, I met a girl named Ray who said I touched her, but who really touched me.  She was a petite Chinese girl with pretty chin-length black hair and sweet eyes.  She was an electrical engineering Ph.D student, but when she learned I was a writer, she practically fangirled all over me.  She said that she loved to read and that she had always dreamed of being a writer.  She loved novels and getting lost in a book but unfortunately, due to the Chinese school syste...

In all the Wrong places I look For you In the spring It looks like Desire has come and Kissed the trunks of the trees Where the blossoms are Bright and heavy. Pink smells swell Into the air When my Eyes close On you. Love, Eve 💖

Top left to bottom: Uploaded by @Purity, @AnnaNeberikuty, and @nehir_ylmaz on WeHeartIt A lot can happen in a new-old apartment. So, my girls and I just moved into one of the nicer-old apartments near campus.  For months and months visions of sofa-plunging and dinner parties danced in our heads, but, given our smaller price window (we were hoping to pay significantly less than we were paying for our already-cheap dorm), we weren't completely sure what we were in for.  You never know with this sort of thing, right? Right... and wrong. So, of course the place has its special charms.  As soon as we walked in we noticed a multitude of shoddily-filled-in holes in the white plaster walls.  A skewed-leg spider of old Silly String (orange—school colors!) greeted us from the ceiling.  Patches of the floor bowed as we walked through, and though the carpet was bed-bug free, it was slightly sticky to the sole and there were a few non-Silly-String spiders ha...

Collage made on Instagram and screenshot-ed; from top left to bottom right uploaded by @thenataliage,@the_wanderlust_soul @Mairesende, @akemma2, @gaby_realpevillacis, and @Axhlyyx to WeHeartIt Just a little pretty thing I put together for you.

                 Collage made with befunky.com; photo credit clockwise from top left to @Stylish_Gurl, @_infinityheart_, @adarkcloud, @nessrine19baga, @merrymikaela, and @thenataliage on WeHeartIt                                                 There was a little girl who had a little curl.  And when she was good, she was very, very good.  And when she was bad, she was very, very bad. That's me. In my time around the sun, I've been called, and I quote: 1. The nicest girl in school Photo credit to @nessrine19baga on WeHeartIt 2. The nicest girl you'll ever meet 3. Nicer than Gandhi 4. A model student for all to emulate (big words) 5. Unusually unique and gifted And, also, and I repeat: 6. Aggressive 7. Grammar Nazi 8. Bossy 9. Sneaky Interjector of Sly Malicious ...

Introductions They tell me the Holy Ghost is Invisible but Sometimes you can see the Soul Like the way you say No, that's the wrong Translation Under your breath when you Read me your favorite foreign poem Or the way the professor's eyes Go somewhere both Nearer and farther away for a Second as the tenor of his voice Changes. Little pause in between Measured monologue and Rehearsed speech Little glimmer behind Guarded eyes Thank you for Introducing yourself. Written by Eve ❤

One of my favorite poems. Love,  Eve I Am Much Too Alone in This World, Yet Not Alone Rainer Maria Rilke ,  1875  -  1926 I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone enough to truly consecrate the hour. I am much too small in this world, yet not small enough to be to you just object and thing, dark and smart. I want my free will and want it accompanying the path which leads to action; and want during times that beg questions, where something is up, to be among those in the know, or else be alone. I want to mirror your image to its fullest perfection, never be blind or too old to uphold your weighty wavering reflection. I want to unfold. Nowhere I wish to stay crooked, bent; for there I would be dishonest, untrue. I want my conscience to be true before you; want to describe myself like a picture I observed for a long time, one close up, like a new word I learned and embraced, like the everday jug, like my ...

**Content warning: Brief reference to the writer's experiences with severe depression and anxiety.** Reader dear, It all started with a snowcone shack. It was my second-ever job, a chill gig two minutes away from my house.  Sure, I was the lots-of-book-sense-but-no-common-sense type, but where the application said "Why Should We Hire You?" I said that I was a hard worker and tried my utmost to learn new things.  When I got the job, I put on my required rubber gloves, my big-girl panties, and got down to the dirty work. .... And it was very, very messy. Soon after starting work (I worked the register because my hands weren't fast or nimble enough to do the actual work of making snowcones), I found that touching the slick snowcone cups, crisp napkins, and grimy money—Don't worry, I used Germ-x!—in quick succession made me cringe.  When I was asked to add new ice to the machine, I flinched away from the sharp feel of the frigid block.  Not only was the ...

I've got garden fever How about you? I've got garden fever And fallen fever too.                              —Eve Reader dear, Have you ever fallen from a higher place? I have, more times than I can count. I've only been around the sun a mere 21 years, but I know what it feels like to bite the dust.  Everyone does it.  What distinguishes one fall from another is the way we choose to grit our teeth, get the gravel out of our knees, and get on down the road.  Because it's a choice.  We often read of redemption as being some sort of divine revelation—or reckoning—but the truth is, most times our fate falls into our own hands. So what are you gonna do? Me, I'm gonna write about it.  Because I've got garden-fallen fever, and I can't wait to get back. So, here's my story.  Fists clenched, teeth on edge.  But I've gotta tell you. Love, ...