Apparently we have an inability to commit to anything, let alone a blog. 

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Succulent, Wild Women

So suddenly it’s September. Egads. I’m writing this from my new suite, on a couch that belongs to us, in a kitchen that we get to use at any time of the day, filled with appliances we bought ourselves and food we share and pass around. There are five of us, now. The sarcastic E, the independent M, the lovely J. They all have their own rooms, little singles off the main room. Abby and I, of course, are together. Our room is twice as big, our beds twice as high, our storage twice as much. We’ve traded our incredible room for a view of Wentworth’s dorm windows (Hi freshman! Can you see our boobs?). And of course, Copley and Bolyston, reunited and not too sure they want to be sharing rocks, food, and lamplight. 
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This summer…a LONG summer, but a good one. 
Abby bartended, I housesat and babysat and taught. There were long days of laying on the beach and long evenings of swimming in the pool that I accidentally turned green (sorry Rob!) and pretending Abby and her guy weren’t skinnydipping ten feet away from me. 
We climbed a mountain- Mt.Washington, biggest in the area. Which would have been okay, had any of us had any climbing experience. We thought, psh, we can hike, we like the outdoors, we like staying in Abby’s family’s condo, we like our boyfriends, let’s go. ImageBut then it was steep. And high. But that was okay. We had fun. We ate trail mix. We made it to the Hut of the Lake of the Clouds. And THAT was okay, and there was turkey soup and there was cake and cold water and hot tea and a beautiful view. And we geared up to tackle the rest of the mountain, because there was a thunderstorm rolling in and it was hike through it, or stay the night. ImageAnd then scary. Thunderstorms crashing around us, no visible path, heavy thick fog, Jim’s twisted ankle, Tanner’s quiet panic, 12 degrees in June, signs warning us people die of exposure even during the summer, hours and hours of purgatory hiking across the mountain to find the path to take us down. We couldn’t even summit, the weather was so bad. 
But we made it. It was okay. We didn’t die. It, to be honest, came closer than any of us wanted to admit. I fell a couple of times, and without Jim grabbing my hand, it could have been really bad. Had Abby not been wearing her red hat, since she was tailing, we could have lost her really easily. 
But it was okay. The next day was filled with achies. Content, we-lived achies though. Image

 

When I ask Abby what else we did this summer, she laughs and turns back to Minecraft. “That’s about it.”

So now we’re here, back in the 617. All of our friends are a few floors away at most, if not sitting in our living room, roasting Spaghetti Squash seeds. Our smoke detector works, by the way. My wine glass, a birthday gift from Abby, has already shattered into a thousand pretty pieces after one glass of coke. 
If you need us, you know where we are. The bright orange awkward skyscraper is a good landmark. I’ll be living in the education classrooms with E and M, Abby will be rubbing her boobs (?) in the painting halls. 
Here’s to a new year. 
The 401A-Team