Hey Katie,
Here’s something you should do: relax.
Contrary to popular belief, you are not Atlas, and you do not carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. So please, stand up straight and walk with a little purpose.
Finals can make even the nicest, most Betty Crocker-esque ladies into wild beasts. You’ve seen them battling (bitching) each other out in the wilderness (quad). So don’t be afraid to eat pizza and ice cream, because honestly, if you don’t, you might explode out of pure, unadulterated frustration. And I would hate to see that happen.
You’ve studied long and hard, so by now, if you don’t know it, then you probably never will. These tests will not make or break you as a human being, future entrepreneur or lifetime achievement award winner of the Deep Sleep Role Model for Sealy Posturpedic mattresses. So please, stop making yourself sick over these things which you cannot control. (Ok, so you can control them a little, but you get the idea.)
Please note that summer is a reward, and you have earned it. You have worked diligently all year, and it is time you give yourself a stinkin’ break. Go hang out with your friends. Stop being such a loner schmuck on weekends. When you get home from work, take a shower and whip out a copy of whatever book you borrowed from the library that week. I fully expect your CLAMS card to look well-worn, as if a dog chewed on it and as if it were lost in the ocean for several weeks. Make creative book marks too. People like that shit.
It will make your life, and Shawn’s life (poor guy listens to you all the time), a lot easier if you can just go with the flow. Summer is summer. You are an ace with summer. You like beaches, sunshine, the outdoors, tomfoolery, and food. All the things lined up on your agenda are things you are good at. Roll with it.
Once your finances get in order in a few weeks (you’re going to know the ins-and-outs of balancing a check book and Bank of America fine-print in no time), buy yourself a new pair of sunglasses, a bikini and a hammock for the back yard. Embrace this time while you can.
Being young only comes around once.
I’ll be sending you more e-mails to check up soon.
Good luck with the weekend and your last final,
Friend
Filed under: Things I Like | Tags: 8tracks, awesomeness, discomfort, friends, happiness, honesty, life without facebook, mix, playlist, Rachel Socolow
If you know me, you know very well that I am prone to fucking up in no small way.
This time, I forgot my best friend’s birthday.
I have no excuses. I was aware that it was near, but on April 23rd, I downright forgot.
To make matters worse, Rachel is known for having shitty birthdays. Every year, April 23rd seems to be worse than the average day. Friends and idiots forget her, gifts are no better than garbage cans, and Rachel cries “Good Ghandi!” in her own pain and frustration.
It’s not fair. Because Rachel is one of the few people in this world that I could trust with my life. She’s half my size, and if I were dying on some mountain pass in the woods, she would find me, save me and play the guitar at my bedside until I recovered. She is just that kind of girl.
I haven’t know Rachel on a personal level for very long. But my first memory of Rachel comes from Girl Scout Camp– Camp Machagamee (more like Camp Throw-Me-A-Match-And-Light-Me-On-Fire-This-Sucks). ANYWAY, at age ten, she was already sharing her wisdom with all the other girls. We called her Turtle. I thought she was strange but very, very cool. Luckily, years later, we reunited in physics class and have gone out to eat breakfast together ever since.
Rachel is thoughtful, creative, introspective and one of the most caring people I know. I’m not one to dole out compliments like Halloween candy, so I mean it when I say the girl is great. Without her, I wouldn’t know and enjoy bluegrass, Westford House of Pizza, March Haiku-a-days (a month-long holiday celebrating the art of haiku), or group drawings. Rachel has helped me through an exhausting number of problems (when I wanted to decide if I should stay in Westford for the summer or go to Falmouth, she said to me, point blank “Mac, throw out the pro/con list.”) She supports me emotionally, but she also supports me wacky interests, dreams, and other pursuits, like writing, mix cds, and pointless car rides. Yet Rachel will also be the first to put me in my place (when Rachel told me she was disappointed in my last minute bagging out on an adventure/job for the Villanovan, I had guilt seeping out of my every pore.) She is the world’s best friend. She will stop anything to help you and she always follows through.
So how could I not feel guilty-as-hell when I realized, after texting her about a hockey game, that I completely forgot about her birthday!?!? I knew she was expecting me to remember, too. Even when Rachel told me not to worry about it, I remained frustrated. I feel stupid.
But I have pledged to myself that I will make it up to her. I have a few surprises up my sleeve. This blog post doesn’t even scratch the surface (I almost feel as if this is the obligatory apology/blog post/”Oh fuck, oh fuck, OH FUCK” moment.)
Chicken, mark my words: your birthday will be celebrated. (Belatedly, but in a much better way than you could’ve anticipated.)
I make Rachel mix cds frequently, though not as often as I’d like. But every gift includes one. This is the mix I made for you, Rachel. I don’t know why I decided to title it “Understanding the difference between Want and Need,” but at the time, it made sense. I hope you, and all your friends in Beverly, love it. It took me a while to make. It is eclectic, I can promise that much.
I’ll send you a hard copy when I have a chance.
Thank you for always being a fantastic, loving, pee-your-pants-funny, one-of-a-kind, no-bullshit best friend. Life would not be the same without you. I only hope that I can make up my “I forgot” moment in a meaningful way.
With love,
Katie Mac
Understanding the Difference Between Want and Need … this stinkin’ thing won’t embed. So click on the link.
Filed under: Things I Like | Tags: changes, Facebook, friends, life without facebook, ridiculousness, social media, updates
I have gone at least a month without using my Facebook.
Some people find this admirable. Some people find this disgusting. Some people find this unbelievable. I really don’t care if you think I am crazy for getting rid of it, deactivating my profile from the pernicious view of the world. Actually I do care: you might be crazy if you’re actually so addicted that you can no longer live without it.
Giving up Facebook has been one of my greatest ideas. I feel like I have more time for living, as opposed to mindlessly surfing profiles, indulging in games inspired by procrastination made for procrastination, and shouting at my laptop in frustration over the ever-changing Facebook home page. While my reversion back to normal sleeping habits may have nothing to do with signing off of Facebook for good, I like to think that it played a part. I do more homework, spend more time on Twitter (reading news as opposed to worthless ‘Notes’ and ‘Status Updates’), and use the internet as a tool, not as a means to connect with my every friend, foe, cousin, viral video, and new game.
I am really enjoying life without Facebook.
Some people gave up Facebook for Lent, like this guy.
But I don’t think that that is enough. I would be willing to bet that there are some Christians obsessing about their lack of social media. They are probably begging themselves to log in. ‘My precious farm!’ ‘What will I do without Jackie’s default to jerk off to?’ ‘Qué necesito para jugar serpiente!’ Those people are planning on returning to Facebook in the near future. I, on the other hand, am not. I think that is the part that gets people.
Facebook has become a necessity. It’s how you stay in the loop with friends, and people you aren’t friends with, and the security team at the mall, and the chemistry club, and your favorite TV shows, and the news about worldwide disasters (including, but not limited to, tsunamis, earthquakes, and that house party you weren’t invited to.) To some, Facebook is as necessary as breathing and bathing. Facebook is a drug. Once you get on, you don’t want to leave — even when you’re bored with Facebook! Is it wrong that I don’t miss it… at all?
Some people think so. I have gotten comments like “I don’t know how you do it,” and “Are you coming back?” and “I would never get rid of my Facebook. I love it.” But do you really? Do you really love your profile page? Isn’t that a little ridiculous? Aren’t we supposed to love family, and that runner’s high you get after a good run, and when your little brother makes you a birthday card? Are we supposed to love the embodiment of commercialism, materialism, laxism, pessimism, nihilism, absurdism, skepticism, solipsism and every other ism you can think of? Can Facebook really be loved? Should it be loved? Or is it due to be burned like a controversial book? I never felt that Facebook love. Perhaps the lust, the hunger for Facebook.
Facebook has revolutionized the world we live it. We now have things like “Facebook Activism” (The illusion of dedication to a cause through no-commitment awareness groups. Specifically in reference to Facebook groups centered around political issues http://bit.ly/fnRjmk ) and different types of friends (“Facebook ‘Friends’” A “friend” on facebook whom you added after meeting for a brief period of time. A friend of a friend of a friend, someone you met at a bar, or just a random acquaintance who happened to add you. You rarely, if ever speak to this person http://bit.ly/fcUwMd ) and we can even decide if those “friends” are worth of looking at our page or not (Facebook audit The act or practice of de-friending people on Facebook, mainly due to excessive status updates. Although this may apply to the de-friending of individuals, it more commonly refers to going through one’s “Friends” list and removing a relatively large number of people, such as people you met at a party once and haven’t seen since, friends of exes, and high school classmates that you actually kind of hated http://bit.ly/dJiAgf .) Even my parents were ‘creeping’ on my page. Anyone could see a snippet — or a decent size photograph — of my life, as of today.
So I when people ask “Why did you do it?” I say “I got sick of Facebook.” It’s not a lie. I was really sick and tired of Facebook. It was a nuisance. It was something I didn’t want in my life anymore, like a crazy ex or a two faced friend.
You don't have to delete your Facebook profile. But it has been nice to take a step back from the digital world of social media.
I don’t mind when people accuse me of being crazy for deactivating my page. I may be crazy, but I am not crazy because I excised Facebook from my life. I know that much. It has been a positive change. It’s one less thing to waste my time with, and it’s one less thing I have to worry about. My social life has not suffered; the people who want to call me, call me. I’m fine. I’ve survived.
One day, I may reactivate it. Never say never. We’ll see how things go. But for now, I like my life without Facebook.
I don’t see going back anytime soon.
Filed under: Lizstomania | Tags: friends, Lists, movie, Price is Right, relax, school, slacking, snacks, snow day
After three delays, mere teasers from my college, I finally got a snow day. Let’s be honest, everyone loves a day off from school, especially when you go to a “pay more, go less” kind of school.
But I’ve had a lifetime of snow days. That’s a long time to figure out what makes a great snow day. Obviously, the fact that any day of school is cancelled is both a wonder and a miracle. I can’t help but love it.
These kids have it allllll right.
But to have a stand out, amazing snow day, you have to have all of the following. And I mean ALL.
- The Price is Right. Just like any sick day, you gotta catch the Price Is Right in the morning. I love that tacky music and the glitter and lights. I love the pricing games and the new cars and the abundance of fashion faux pas. It is entirely necessary to any great snow day.
- Freshly baked cookies. Making the batter from scratch adds bonus points, but honestly, any type of warm, made-since-you-woke-up-this-morning type of cookie qualifies. Everyone needs cookies on a snow day. My personal favorite would have to be a chocolate chipper, made by yours truly.
- A movie you have watched at least four times. It could use another watching. You know you love it. It’s always entertaining. Watch it again. You have a few hours to kill, anyway. Movies that make my list include Good Fellas, Ocean’s 11, Austin Powers, and most Disney Pixar films.
- Random visitor. You can’t be alone on your snowed in afternoon. It just never happens that way. The more surprising and random the visitor, the better. Is it a cousin who is on a roadtrip through town? A good friend with funky vintage work out suits? Gramma? All I have to say is ‘get it on!!!!!!!’ Those are exactly the strange visitors you need on a good snow day. (Note: The best of visitors bring their ipods and sleds for dance parties and outdoor adventures.)
- Naptime. The Snow day nap is almost as crucial as the Thanksgiving Day nap. If you are in rare form, you can probably catch up on at least three hours of sleep during said nap. If you are a pro, you will fall asleep after gorging yourself on cookies while watching your old favorite movie, right after the Price is Right. Naps are God’s way of saying “You know what, you haven’t worked very hard today. But don’t worry about it. Everyone deserves to feel lazy sometimes.”
Filed under: Flash Fiction, Late Night | Tags: college, dorm life, drinking, flash fiction, friends, hunting knife, kids, ridiculousness, rules are meant to be broken, stranger than fiction, travel, video
Grease and cheez whiz dribbled down their fingers as Pat, the purported king of steaks, watched them through the window.
Katie Mac and Clyde Thornton happily discussed their holidays as they attempted to finish their massive cheese steaks.
“You met a vagabond in the middle of the desert?” Katie asked in disbelief.
“Yeah, he was asleep at the top of a sand dune in the Mojave. He seemed like a pretty cool guy,” replied Clyde.
They departed the Philadelphia landmark, driving down the dirty alleyways of south Philly, the sky dusting the air with dandruffy snow. It seemed like a moment appropriate for a remixed Beatles ballad, or perhaps some Creedence Clearwater Revival. But the radio remained silent, and the two chattered on, occasionally interrupted by the creepy woman narrating the GPS directions.
South Campus seemed eerily quiet when they arrived at Villanova. Few students roamed the grassy knoll or slushy sidewalks. The street lamps illuminated the falling snow like Christmas movies often do. Clyde grabbed Katie’s luggage and followed her to the dormitory.
“You lost your wildcard. Your banner ID is 00692443, if they ask. You study biology here. You are not a freshman,” Katie coached him before they walked in the door.
“Got it,” Clyde replied. Does she honestly expect me to remember that? thought Clyde.
The automatic door swung open with its familiar malaise.
“Howdy folks,” said the security guard upon their entrance into the building. They tried to keep walking in, but the guard stopped them. “You’re going to have to sign him in,” he said to Katie, gesturing to the grizzly Clyde.
Stupid all girls dorm in a Catholic school, she cursed for the thousandth time.
“I lost my wildcard,” Clyde said. “Here’s my driver’s license.”
The security guard was not amused.
“Are you confused? I know the rules are confusing. All guests, especially males, need to be checked in,” he stated coldly.
Clyde and Katie glanced nervously at one another. Of course there’s a problem, Katie thought.
The guard took another look at Clyde, back to the identification card, back to Clyde. Begrudingly, he took out the sheet of paper and began to sign Clyde into the dormitory.
“You know,” he said with a sly ‘I know you’re lying’ tone to his deep voice, “you really don’t look like someone who goes here.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Clyde replied in disbelief.
What is that supposed to mean?
“Well, obviously I can’t know everyone. I don’t know everyone. But I know I’ve never seen you around here before, and you really just don’t look like someone who goes here.”
Really now? What the fuck has gotten into this guy?
“Wow,” they said.
“So, Mr. Thornton, where do you live around here?” The guard would not stop.
Shit, shit, shit, I didn’t tell him what dorm he lives in!
“Uh.. I live off-campus.” It was a save, or at least as quick of a save as they could get. Whatever.
“Mhmm,” nodded the guard, as he handed Clyde his ID back. The two continued to walk down the hallway, silently.
A flight of stairs and the usual fidgeting with the lock to her room, Katie exclaim “WHAT THE FUCK?” with some notable exasperation. ”I had no idea there would be so much red tape to get you in here.”
They discussed their options. Clearly, Clyde needed to get the hell out of there once midnight rolled around. That guard was watching. A couple beers later, they emerged from the room, game plan set.
*******
She looked at Katie with wide eyes, pink Blackberry pressed to her cheek, mouthing “what are you doing?”
Don’t give me that, Barbie.
Katie knew she need not explain to the curly haired visitor. That chick knew exactly what was going down.
Katie opened the window to the laundry room, gazing back at Clyde, who carried a 4.5 inch hunting knife. It looked like a murder weapon, but apparently Clyde had already checked with the police years ago if that was the case. Clearly, it was just a weapon used for breaking and entering.
“You might want to move back,” he said as he thrust the dagger into the heavy-duty screen.
Their spectator looked on for a minute, then pledged to stand outside the door to keep a look out. She kept talking on the phone with her mystery friend about pie or something tragic.
Clyde was no match for the screen. Within two minutes he had sawed a gaping hole into it, his passageway into the building. Even John Madden would’ve been rendered relatively speechless (at least for John Madden standards) by Clyde’s dexterity with the knife. “Brett Favre is a guy where, he puts on his contacts and he can see better. But this Clyde– he doesn’t need any contacts!”
Clyde hoisted himself over the ledge, hopped down, closed the window and brushed himself off. It seemed like the perfect moment for the Mission: Impossible theme song to play for the near-celebration. Katie couldn’t believe their little plan had actually worked. He was inside (not a sex joke.)
Wow, that was easier than I thought (also not a sex joke.)
Now to just get him upstairs.
Before they made their way into the hallway, Clyde noticed a rip in his shirt.
“My favorite shirt! My Mom gave me this,” he said dejectedly. (Even rule-breakers love their Mamas.)
It took a while to creep Clyde up the stairs to the dormitory room. After all, anxiety rendered Katie half a moron.
There has gotta be another set of stairs, she thought a hundred times. (After twenty minutes, she found them.)
Clyde did make his way to Katie’s for an evening of card playing, boozing, and other stories of their respective adventures. He even got to take a hot shower to wash off some of that mountain-man.
Morning crept up on them like Christmas to a Jew, but it made no difference. No one ever suspected Katie of the torn screen, and the snarky guard never came to beat Clyde’s ass. (Like anyone could do that to Clyde– kid’s like Wolverine, Batman, and the Fantastic Four rolled in one!) Clyde completed his road trip, Katie finished her calculus homework, and no one died in a freak accident involving falling library books.
It was such a good day with good feelings, it would’ve inspired Katy Perry to write a song.
Filed under: Song of the Day | Tags: feels like summer, friends, Kanye West, music, song of the day, video, weirdnerd
Why does this song make me reminiscent? I honestly don’t have any memories of driving or anything connected to this, but I can’t help but think of an old friend who would enjoy this song.
I love it. I can’t stop listening to it.
Filed under: Rants & Ridiculousness | Tags: bitch whine and complain, bitching, BWC, complaining, friends, katieism, Paige Calisi, Rant, whining
A friend of mine asked me to explain the rules to a BWC.
And it suddenly dawned on me: people don’t know what a BWC is, or how to effectively host one.
A BWC is a Bitch Whine and Complain Conference. The term was coined by Paige Calisi circa 2006. While it started off as a lunchtime ritual on report card day, the BWC has evolved over the years to accommodate a host of different problems, including men, parents, shoes, and just about anything that could possibly piss you off.
To keep a BWC from getting out of control, usually there are some unspoken parameters.
- Everyone has to have a chance to say their piece.
- Try to avoid bitching about specific people, especially if in a public setting, but really, anything goes.
- There should be a time limit on the BWC. (An hour is a good maximum.)
- Once the BWC is over, no one is allowed to complain about any of the subjects discussed in the BWC until 24 hours has elapsed, or until another designated time (which should be predetermined before the BWC begins.)
Any number of people can participate in a BWC. Sometimes it is nice to give everyone a turn, like Chick A starts first, bitches for 10 to 15 minutes with others chiming in, then Chick B goes, then Chick C, etc, etc. This let’s everyone’s complaints get heard, and ensures that everyone feels the wonderful relief of the BWC.
Sometimes a moderator is nice, too. The moderator should try to abstain from giving too much opinion or having a whiner moment themselves. The moderator really should stick to their task of moderating.
The goal of a BWC is to cleanse the soul of nagging negativities, annoying afterthoughts, or gregarious gossip. This is the best way to share with a group, yet also make sure that everyone gets rid of their bad mood at once. Talking it out facilitates a purge of the bad energy, and gets everyone on the right page together, making for a better second half of the day. (While BWCs usually occur in the afternoon, there is no set time they have to occur, although I recommend avoiding any time before 9:30 AM. I mean, c’mon, at 9:30, if you aren’t still hungover, you can’t have possibly had something so atrocious happen that you feel the need to ravage a village or start drinking again.)
I encourage all friends to practice BWC and to embrace it for its healing powers.
Sometimes there is nothing better than hashing it out and forcing others to listen to you go on and on about something you absolutely hate.
Filed under: Song of the Day | Tags: Born Ruffians, confusion, dream, friends, future, indie, lyrics, music, past, Rachel Socolow, song of the day, speechless, St Augustine, video
What to Say by Born Ruffians
When I wake up I’m speaking slow. When I get drunk I’m speaking more. Get too drunk & I don’t speak at all. Get too close to you & I don’t know what to say. The only time I make sense is when I’m talking in my sleep. But there’s nobody around to write it down, So it gets lost on my books & pillows. The only time you made sense was when I was talking too. But we had to take turns, one at a time. & when it comes to mine I have no idea what to say. When I’m talking to you. What to say when I’m standing there talking to you.
Not long ago, I was left speechless after a night with an old friend.
I didn’t know how to react, or what to say, then. And even now, I still don’t know what to say.
I have a lot of things that I want to say, but part of me feels as if things are best left unsaid. Maybe this was just supposed to be the last straw, walk away, wait until a few months, or a few years from now, when we run into each other at the grocery store or a bar, smile awkwardly, admire each others eyes, reminisce, and walk away.
I am not sure how things are supposed to play out, and I would rather just let it be- wait until it happens. I don’t need to think about the future. I just need to think about my late night blogging, or questions on St. Augustine, or how I need to update my resume once and for all.
I like this song because I have always been able to relate to it. (And I am an outspoken, verbose, loquacious.) Even when we were closer, I didn’t know what was right to say and what was best left to silence. I write in my journal, and even though I am only talking to myself, I don’t know what I should or shouldn’t be recording. I can’t even collect my thoughts.
We met up under strange, tender conditions. I was uneasy. Much of my apprehension was out of not knowing what to say. We sat together in the car, in our old spot by the ocean, and I still did not know what to say. Even Sam Summer and music couldn’t coerce much out of me.
The pervasiveness of my speechlessness has always been an issue, whether I ever acknowledged it or not. I have no doubts about a little lack of honesty, a little lack of communication. Even as a fond letter writer, no one likes receiving half as many emails as they send.
I often feel as if I am only making sense when I am talking in my sleep, through my chaotic, twisted dreams. I’ve been told I say the most bizarre, out there things, but it doesn’t surprise me much. Often, these are thoughts I have had before. And while these contrived situations of my dreams are far from realistic, I still have been to these places before. I have thought about them in my waking hours- whether I know it or not.
Recently, my friend was in my dream. It was violent, and I woke up haunted, but unsure why. My roommates commented on me being particularly chatty that night. From some interpretive view point, perhaps this shows how uncertain, frightened, and speechless I am in the daytime. I don’t know how to confront it; I want to say something, but I cannot find the most perfect words, so instead, I remain silent.
It’s fine with me. Kind of.
(Aside from the lyrical value of this song, I am a big fan of Born Ruffians. I have featured some other stuff by them on KatieAtlas, and I think they are a talented bunch. Their music provides a unique, fresh perspective on music, life and culture.)
I think this post can be best summed up with one of my own midnight ramblings, as recorded by Rachel Socolow: “Oh fuck. Oh fuck…… OH FUCK.”
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Chilean Poets, ends, friends, love, ocean, Ode to Broken Things, Pablo Neruda, poet, poetry, sadness
Ode to Broken Things by Pablo Neruda
Things get broken
at home
like they were pushed
by an invisible, deliberate smasher.
It’s not my hands
or yours
It wasn’t the girls
with their hard fingernails
or the motion of the planet.
It wasn’t anything or anybody
It wasn’t the wind
It wasn’t the orange-colored noontime
Or night over the earth
It wasn’t even the nose or the elbow
Or the hips getting bigger
or the ankle
or the air.
The plate broke, the lamp fell
All the flower pots tumbled over
one by one. That pot
which overflowed with scarlet
in the middle of October,
it got tired from all the violets
and another empty one
rolled round and round and round
all through winter
until it was only the powder
of a flowerpot,
a broken memory, shining dust.
And that clock
whose sound
was
the voice of our lives,
the secret
thread of our weeks,
which released
one by one, so many hours
for honey and silence
for so many births and jobs,
that clock also
fell
and its delicate blue guts
vibrated
among the broken glass
its wide heart
unsprung.
Life goes on grinding up
glass, wearing out clothes
making fragments
breaking down
forms
and what lasts through time
is like an island on a ship in the sea,
perishable
surrounded by dangerous fragility
by merciless waters and threats.
Let’s put all our treasures together
– the clocks, plates, cups cracked by the cold –
into a sack and carry them
to the sea
and let our possessions sink
into one alarming breaker
that sounds like a river.
May whatever breaks
be reconstructed by the sea
with the long labor of its tides.
So many useless things
which nobody broke
but which got broken anyway
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: drinking, Falmouth, Fay Beach, friends, happiness, life, love, summer, sunrise
Sunday August 15, 2010 @ 2:33 PM – Driving home, currently in bridge traffic
I always have these grandiose plans. These spectacular ideas, how I think things will go, how I want it to lay out.
Last night things did not turn out how my crazy mind wanted it to… We had no beer, no great storytelling, and no huge plan.
But things turned out alright.
I saw shooting stars.
I tried a drink called “Surfer on Acid.”
…
I saw the most beautiful sunrise. It looked like someone had sewn thread of gold through the sky and clouds.
I had a great talk with S on the jetty. We talked ab out work and summer and Hot Sauce and he told me how beautiful I am. I had greasy hair, an old sweatshirt, and boxers on, and even though I denied it, I suddenly felt beautiful.
It was nothing like the night I imagined, but dare I say it, it was better.
Beloved Fay Beach
