When I got out of grad school, I thought I would be a teacher. I went on Disability. It was the summer of sangria and cards. Of serotonin. Sanitaria. Sangria. Schizophrenia. It was the summer I decided my life was over. It was the summer of 2009 that I had a book published,
JET SET DESOLATE. I lost the will to live having accomplished my goal for so long. It was the summer I got a blue rat baby and regained it.
Summer. I read
The Philosophy of Andy Warhol every morning and felt blank.
Latrice Long moved into my North Hollywood apartment that summer of 2008. Rachel, my old BFF from CalArts moved away forever. I never saw her again except for Facebook's static flash. My boyfriend Nick was still living in my room. His food stamps kept us afloat after we'd run through my student loans.
