One down, one to go (Thanks Moderna)

I spent the morning sipping my Earl Grey tea, listening to “Avatar: The Last Airbender” low-fi music and the sound of the rain. Two nights later I was doing a face mask and getting to bed early, so that I could read the Fran Lebowitz book that I’ve been looking forward to. Some days, I can’t tell the difference between this and my introverted ways before COVID. Those are good days. 

It’d been raining here all week. I was going to get the Johnson & Johnson vaccine on Wednesday, administered by the school, but the nationwide halt changed that plan. In lieu of that, our school sent us to a vaccination site in Westchester. A few hours later, after a vexing online sign-up process that resulted in many tears, I went with my friend Tyler to the site. 

This is quite the operation… as it should be

They sat me down, asked me the obligatory medical question of “what is your birthday,” and much to our mutual excitement the nurse and I discovered that we had the same birthday (give or take a few decades). I love meeting people who have my same birthday, because, unless I’ve imagined it, very few people seem to have been born on June 29th. Since we’d built up a rapport, I warned her that I’m not great with needles. It’s not much except for my historically low threshold for pain, the counter-intuitive nature of sticking a foreign substance into my body, and the fact that whenever I see the needle going in all I can picture is the needle going straight through my skinny arm and coming out the other end. 

The woman understood and assured me that “this too shall pass.” Instead of watching the injection, I picked a spot on the wall, which ended up being the banners of the victories of the Westchester Community College Viking’s Basketball Championships. It wasn’t bad at all. The initial injection didn’t really hurt, although soon after my arm felt so sore that I thought that my arm might fall off. It must have been the microchip. (I would like to specify for all of the conspiracy theorists out there, that was most definitely a joke). 

While waiting the standard fifteen minutes post-vaccination, I scanned a barcode, using the camera on my phone in order to schedule my next appointment. I overheard one of the volunteers instructing another person to do the same, by stating, “we’re just going to let big brother take control, right now.” I burst out laughing, hopefully validating him and his literary references. 

This would be Tyler

Once I got home, the side effects hit. At first it was just a fever and some chills, which set in that night. I wasn’t worried: this falls within the normal range of symptoms. The next morning I still had the fever, plus nausea, the kind where you feel like you’re going to throw up if you so much as take a sip of water. I spent most of the day in bed, trying to get my fever to ebb and sleeping in between my conferences. After nap number four of the day, I got up to pee, down a glass of water, eat my first meal of the day, and take my temperature. 

Some more shots of the red tape

You know that it’s a bad sign when standing up is where the problem starts. I knew I was uncoordinated before, but my inability to walk straight and the way that I bumped into everything, was a new low for me. The dehydration, lack of food, and staying in bed all day, in conjunction with my adverse reaction to the vaccine, didn’t exactly make for a banner day in my life. I drank a glass of water, put a slice of bread in the toaster, and couldn’t find the thermometer. I stumbled from the kitchen to my room and could not see anything by the time I got back to my room.

Ringing started in my ears, then everything around me went silent. I moved toward the chair at my desk when I collapsed. Miraculously, I didn’t hit my head on anything on my way to the floor, even though there were about five different things I could have hit my head on. I did take about half the contents on my desk down with me. I dragged down my keyboard, my atlas, and, ironically, the handout on the side effects of the Coronavirus vaccine. 

I was sitting on the floor, sweating uncontrollably, unable to see or hear. I’d never had a serious health problem before; I hadn’t so much as fainted, so, when I was sitting there on the ground, missing half my senses, all I could think to do was call out for my suite mate Bella.

Bella helped me up off the floor and set me on my bed. She called our school’s 911 and gave me back my toast, although she offered to make me a new piece of toast that hadn’t been on the floor. My entire body was coated in some nice, sticky sweat.

My vision steadily came back in about a minute; the ringing persisted a little while longer, but that eventually subsided as well. I was offered an ambulance, but since my side effects dissipated and my body temperature plummeted, I decided instead to just chug some electrolytes and call it a day. 

The electrolytes, provided for me by the school and brought to me by Bella

Even though I collapsed (the perfect get out of class free card) I went to class anyway. My peers were reviewing my piece that day and since it would be my last chance to hear their thoughts on my novel before the semester ended, I felt that I had no other choice but to go. I went early, told the professor what happened, and asked if I could go first in class. I spent the whole class in bed, with many eyes carefully on me. 

I had no more serious episodes after that. I don’t want this anecdote to be mistaken for a reason not to get the vaccine. Most of the women I know have had strong reactions to the vaccine. I read that women tend to have stronger reactions than men do because the vaccine was designed with fully grown men in mind. This doesn’t surprise me. 

Apparently, for centuries doctors treated women’s bodies under the assumption that they were the same as men’s bodies, just with added, obnoxious hormones, so they thought that the best way to study and treat women is to do so by studying men. Women are 73% more likely to die in a car crash than a man is, because seatbelts and airbags are also designed with fully grown men in mind. Is that why they call it “a man’s world?” 

My female friends and I fainted and threw up and lost a day of our lives (but what’s a day in comparison to the year we lost?) My male friends got temporarily sore arms, but I’m not bitter about this. Overall, I’m just happy to be healthy and on the right track to being fully-vaccinated. 

We’ll see how the next shot goes.

The Tragic Queen,


A Very Nice Day

In class we had to read “Spring in Fialta” by Nabakov and then had to write something mimicking the language. We had to describe a location using details that felt vivid and fresh, so I had to pick a place that makes me feel a lot when I think about it. In the end, I chose Valdosta- with its auburn pine needles and green puddles of pollen- but I could have written about Bronxville. It got me thinking about how badly I want it to be Spring in Bronxville again when I can hang around campus and downtown, enjoying the sun, preferably without a mask. 

The mask part didn’t happen, but since it was a brisk 66 degrees a few days ago, I roamed the campus, mostly listening to Prince and taking in the start of Spring. I did this at the request of my Italian conversationalist, MariaGrazie, who probably thinks that I’m depressed and suggested that I go for a walk around campus, so that I could feel a little less stale and break up the monotony. This came after she asked me, in Italian, what I’d done recently, and all I could say was that I finished a Stephen King book two days ago.

Me with a fabulous book, on facetime with my mother

So I went for my little walk.

The morning of, I had my Italian conversation and a routine COVID test, which came back as a much-anticipated negative. I’m testing negative and staying positive. Following that happy news, I mulled things over in the middle of campus, before making the hike back up to my far-off dorm rooms. 

The sky was a perfect blue without a cloud in sight. Everything was in bloom and just to prove it, I took photos. I present to you, Spring at Sarah Lawrence College:

This tree:

This tree:

This other tree:

Some billowy white flowers in front of a sky that is Easter Egg blue (on a tree):

The sad thing is, that because I’ve never seen flowers like this in real life, up until now, all I could think of was “Daisy perfume” by Marc Jacobs.

Me kicking my legs up, as I sit near the main road:

Please excuse me while I take a load off.


Me sitting amongst the tulips:

In doing so, I was sitting in front of Westlands, the beautifully-classic, and probably deeply-haunted building that the founder of our college supposedly shoved a woman down the stairs in. We’ve promptly named the dead maid, Gertrude, so much so that if you google search it, her name will come up as Gertrude, even though that wasn’t her real name. This might be the wrong time to mention that I want to live in Westlands if I ever get the chance.

Other planted flowers that I don’t know the name of:

This scene, which might as well have been taken out of a rom com:

Me, climbing up on these high, rocky cliffs that border the campus, that students are allowed to sit on:

There are some nice little picnic chairs up on top, which I wasn’t aware of and sat there reading my book, pleasantly-alone.

Proof that I did that in heels: 

The book that I read from atop the cliffs:

I read “Lovely War” by Julie Berry, which ended up being the perfect book for reading in this weather, with it being a slightly seductive story about the gods and goddesses that takes place in the 40s. There was even a reference in it to the Ancient Greek poet that I submitted an essay on yesterday. 

A rare pic of me, outside, not wearing a mask, because I was eating my lunch and sipping iced tea:

Some tiny sprigs of something that are growing out in front of the library:

A few photos of the streets, taken at the side of the campus, that make Bronxville look like Hobbitown:

This oh-so-sexy pergola that always has withered vines on it, regardless of the season:

In conclusion, Spring is a time of rebirth and new life, so naturally it is the time to walk around, blowing away the cobwebs in my mind. The campus seems to be reborn too, not just with flowers and trees, but with people giving tours to parents and potential new students, who are just as amazed as I am at the beauty. We’re making way for the next group of students. 

The word for Spring in Italian is “primavera,” which sounds so much more resplendent and exuberant.  

I suppose if you were to say “Happy Spring” in Italian it would probably be “buon Primavera” (don’t quote me on that).

So buon primavera, or whatever it is supposed to be. 

And Happy Spring!

Love, The Tragic Queen,


Spring at Sarah Lawrence

My brother insists that I’m too heavily influenced by TV, which is correct, but completely beside the point. I’m trying to eat healthier because I heard about a macrobiotic diet (on House) and decided that I want to incorporate aspects of that into my diet. 

A macrobiotic diet is supposed to be a lifestyle, but knowing me, as I do, I know that I can’t commit to an entire lifestyle change, especially when it comes to food. So, I’m hoping that if I eat one healthy meal a day I’ll be in good standing with my own personal health. 

A macrobiotic diet, which is popular among female celebrities and cancer patients, derives mostly from Japanese cuisine. It claims to restore balance and help you to achieve inner peace, which I think we could all use a little bit of right now. On this diet, a person is expected to eat foods such as brown rice, eggs, plenty of vegetables, and otherwise healthy things. Since we all know that healthy food is the worst and that junk food tastes the best, I’m looking for inventive new ways to eat healthy food that doesn’t taste like carpeting. 

The day I started this pseudo-diet I had oatmeal for breakfast, followed by homemade fried brown rice, bok choy, and a scrambled egg. Then I proceeded to undo all of that by eating mint chocolate chip gelato, potato chips, white cheddar cheese popcorn, M&M’s, a crispy chicken sandwich, and girl scout cookies. In my defense, it was movie night and since I incurred a stomach ache, I don’t believe I should also suffer judgement. 

I stuck to this plan of eating my fried rice everyday for lunch for over a month, a big step up from my previous status of midnight ramen. For breakfast I always have Earl Grey tea with a buttered bagel and then dinner is whatever I get from the Barb. So here I am, shoveling poorly-seasoned brown rice and bok choy into my mouth, in the name of good health.

I bought the super foods while out on the town during a grocery run with my friend Anahat, a person who I hadn’t seen in a literal year. We are now each other’s grocery store buddies, just to ensure that we actually do go to the grocery store at some point. 

For fun, I ended up eating mint chocolate chip gelato with thin mints as I watched “Pieces of a Woman” (I ate the ice cream and cookies at the beginning of the film, but probably should have done so at the end, when the tears were making their way forward). I’ve been watching old tv shows from my childhood to see how they hold up. Spoiler alert: they do not. I was easily amused as a child and should now apologize to my parents for how much I tormented them. 

Every night my plan is to go to bed by 11 pm, but then something happens and suddenly it’s 3 am and I’m still awake, not fully aware of what I’ve been doing for the past few hours. I try to read before bed instead of mindlessly scrolling on social media, so that it can lower my heart rate, help me sleep better, and give me a superiority complex. 

There is a bit of good news though. For once, I got a chance to hang out with some of my friends, since my friend Theo’s 21st birthday was the very next day. We watched “Fish Tank,” a Michael Fassbender film featuring some early 2000s cringe and thick British accents. 

Me on my way to leave my house for once

Him and his roommate Tyler live in an apartment off campus, which means they have lawn chairs for kitchen chairs and a poker table for a kitchen table, which might be my favorite way to design an apartment. I nearly destroyed their microwave when I accidentally put a sandwich in it with the tin foil wrapper still on. My friends could see the glow of the microwave in front of the movie we were projecting, prompting them to all turn their heads when they all saw a blue flame. In my defense, I was doing this in the dark and thought that it was plastic wrap, which I have since been told is also not great in microwaves. I also should get credit for turning off the microwave within four seconds.

The group then decided to pause the movie and watch me while I ate, just in case. The party, overall, was loads of fun. I wore an unnecessary, full-face of makeup, simply because I was excited to just be leaving the dorm.

The makeup
The make-off

Recently, I also gave an informal tour of my beloved school to a visiting girl that is considering coming to Sarah Lawrence. Even though we couldn’t go into most of the buildings, we walked around the campus and Bronxville, while I advocated for the school that has served me well. They seem to take my view of things, which is that Bronxville and Sarah Lawrence are absolutely stunning.

Easter Sunday is here and it’s the first time I have spent it without my family. My mother, who believes in making everything festive and giving everything a sense of occasion, still places Easter eggs around the house and enjoys concocting a scavenger hunt for me and my brother. In recent years, the scavenger hunt has taken place all across town, with our family friends playing along and Bobby and myself driving around town in my car, in our pajamas. We quite literally follow clues that send us to my friend Padgett’s house to retrieve the next clue from her mother, before moving on to my brother’s friend’s house. The clues say things like: Raquel’s friend who has a menagerie of animals. At the end of it, there’s a massive basket with things like movies, extra pajama pants, maybe a bathing suit, and lots of chocolate. 

This year my mother just mailed us the basket contents, which was a pile of fake grass, chocolate eggs, and some cash. I definitely missed spending time with them. My mother likes to play Gregorian chants in the morning on actual Easter Day while cooking up her Polish food. I’m more than just a little bit happy that I missed the two hour long Easter Vigil mass where we stand in my church’s parking lot, lighting candles while mosquitoes bite our ankles. 

Between the dieting, the binge-watching, the occasional hangouts with friends, and the uneventful late nights, I’ve got plenty to keep me busy, aside from the school work. The weather is now at the perfect temperature to lay out on the lawn so I’ll be doing that soon.

The Tragic Queen,


P.S. Happy Easter! Or Happy Passover! Or Vernal Equinox! Or whatever holiday you celebrate this time of year!

Some daily dull musings

Domestic life, treating me well

My radiator, which works all too well, causes my room to get stuffier than an oven at night, so in order to not wake up covered in sweat, I crack open the window in front of my bed and open all three of my curtains so that sunlight can flood in. That way I can wake up to perfect sunshine and start my day off on a lovely note. This works well until the 6 am sunshine peaks over the adjacent apartment complex, grazes my clavicle ever so gently, and then burns a hole into my skin, thus waking me up. If I ever wake up without my alarm clock going off, I have to check and make sure that I didn’t sleep through it and that it isn’t now 1 pm; I wouldn’t say it if it hasn’t happened. This causes me to clamor for my phone, see that it is the ungodly hour of 6 am, say some words that are unrepeatable and then drool off into my pillow again once I’ve reassessed the trajectory of the sun. I live quite the thrilling life, I assure you.

The view from my dorm
The Park

I walk to get my lunch every afternoon wearing my fabulous coats that no one gets to see, listening to “City of Blinding Lights” by U2, and yes I am aware that that song is about Paris and not New York City. Since I’ve been sitting around in my room, bored for ages, I’ve been thinking about all of the places in the world I want to go to, and I’ve narrowed it down to everywhere. I have a rough idea of what I want to do: spend an entire year traveling like I’m on a honeymoon with myself. 

A pic of New York City from a very different time

I want to soak up some sun on Bondi beach and do likewise at Copacabana in Rio de Janeiro. Then there’s whatever France has to offer and Italy of course, seeing as how I’m learning the language. I also want to see the places that Americans tend to view as off-limits, like China and Russia. I blame my parents. I’ve wanted to see the Adriatic Sea and the pyramids and Croatia since they got me to watch “Murder on the Orient Express,” “Death on the Nile,” and “Evil under the Sun,” as a kid. 

The view from the steps of the Met

But first, I’d like to see New York again. It feels strange to be living in New York and to be missing New York. I keep reminding myself of all of the things that I loved about it, so that the distance between us doesn’t break my spirits. One of the things that I have enjoyed so much about Sarah Lawrence is the way that I could just pop into the city at a moment’s notice and check out the Mapplethorpe exhibit that they have at the Guggenheim or the Met Gala exhibit at the Met. 

The Temple of Dendur

There’s so much that I like and miss about New York City: the street meat, weird theatre, killer opera, and of course, the Park. I can’t wait to get back to the energy and the drama; there’s nothing lethargic in a city that never sleeps. 

The Tragic Queen,


Fasttimes at Sarah Lawrence College

Since I live practically at east coast ground zero for the COVID hotspot, my school actually cares about whether or not we breathe each other’s air. The current policy is that I’m only allowed to interact with people in my “living pod,” so I only get to spend time with my suitemate, Bella, the only person I’m allowed to mouth-breathe on/near. Together, we watched “Malcolm & Marie” on Netflix, cramming our faces with white cheddar cheese popcorn, milk duds, and other movie theatre junk food. Then we watched “The Price of Everything,” my favorite documentary about the world of contemporary art, which also happens to be the only documentary I’ve ever seen about the world of contemporary art. Bella wants to be an art restorer, so I thought it’d be a good fit and as it turns out, I was correct. 

We tried to play a Valentine’s Day themed card game that the school provided us, only to find that you need more than two players. So instead we played war, attempted a card castle on her bed, and played one of those get-to-know-you-question-games. I just got a legitimate deck of bicycle playing cards and we’ll be learning how to play gin rummy. Thursday night was “sit in the hallway and socially-distance paint” night. I painted a bunch of lemons as part of my attempt to be optimistic, because when life gives you lemons you should paint the lemons or some shit.

Thursday was also the day that the school blessed us by paying for a Greek food truck to give us free lunch and a special empanadas food truck to give us dessert empanadas stuffed with nutella, strawberries, and brownies. It was exactly as amazing as it sounds. 

The food truck that served these is called “Wanna Empanada” btw. Be sure to give them a google search

Then I made even more preacher cookies, this time showing Bella, and then made something called “copycat subway cookies,” that I undoubtedly made wrong.

I don’t think that they were supposed to come out salty

I’ve since been able to zhuzh up my blank walls with posters representing my favorite things in the hopes of making this self-isolation a little better. Above my head, I have Jane Fonda’s mugshot, so that she can watch over me while I sleep. Some of you may recall having had a poster in your weird cinder block dorm room that said something like “Frankie Says Relax.” Instead I have Wednesday Addams, Fleabag, and President Bartlet. 

Please ignore my messy desks

Wednesday Addams, from “The Addams Family” is, per her usual, drinking some poison. I put her up on my wall because she reminds me of childhood-me (don’t read too much into that). Fleabag, from the show “Fleabag,” is another woman who reminds me of myself, seen here cheekily turning towards the camera as she says something no doubt crass. President Bartlet, from the TV show “The West Wing,” is in Obama-style coloring, like any good president. Finally, my large tapestry of a Portugese Vogue cover hanging over my bed should immediately tell anyone who enters that I love fashion and am probably cultured (wink, wink). I got all of my dorm room decor from a website called “RedBubble,” which allowed me to set up my shrine to sassy women in black and white and President Bartlet.

A shot of my bed, made-up just for you guys

Most of them fell down shortly after I took these photos. Sigh. 

The newest addition

I can’t wait until I can spend an afternoon watching a mediocre movie in theatres and ordering the wrong thing off a menu at a really great restaurant. I also miss the Slo parties, which take place at “slo 7” , a series of dorms on campus, where you have to venmo people for drinks and act like you’re having a better time than you are. In the coming weeks Bella and I will be watching “Jojo Rabbit,” a newfound favorite of mine and I’ll keep you updated on how the gin rummy is going. 

Much love and also Happy International Women’s Day!

The Tragic Queen,


Even more Galentine’s Day Love

A goofy Galentine’s Day image, that I did with a limited amount of art supplies, but I think it sold my point.

If you’re anything like me and you think that this year is already taking its toll then you’re probably struggling to have a loving and affectionate Valentine’s Day in quarantine. It also doesn’t help that I am and always have been single, but that isn’t the point. The point is that I like to add a sense of occasion, even to the simplest of western holidays that my society forces me to celebrate and Valentine’s Day is no exception.

This time last year, Valentine’s Day marked the end of my pre-COVID activities. After that, my school clamped down hard with its restrictions, being an epicenter for this new virus, and I went back to live with my parents. I honestly can’t believe that I’m coming up on a year, a full rotation around the sun, abiding by limitations put in place due to a global pandemic. So without knowing it, I had to make that Valentine’s Day count and I therefore want to make this one count.

Drinking some Valentine’s Day lemon tea

Like most people on Valentine’s Day, I want to be sipping a virgin pina colada and wearing my black tights, because black tights are made for Valentine’s Day, as are pina coladas, at least in my mind. But I have no way of getting a pina colada and I left my tights at home. I could pick up some of the beloved chocolate covered strawberries from “Topps Bakery,” but since my school is actually strict about leaving campus for things that aren’t priorities, I might just wait until after they lift some of the restrictions. Then, I will practically live at Topps bakery.

I mean, who wouldn’t want to live here, right?

So what is a single girl, locked in quarantine to do on Valentine’s day?

Well, as many of you know, I am a strong proponent of “Galentine’s.” Galentine’s day is an alternative holiday in which you celebrate your best gal pals, brought to us by Leslie Knope, the fierce feminist voice of the fictional TV show “Parks and Recreation.”

It has occurred to me that I have never read a book in which one of the themes was female friendship. I’ve read several books with great female role models, like Hermoine Granger, but even in that example Hermoine only had friends who were boys. Many of my favorite films are about gal pals, such as “Booksmart” and “The First Wives Club,” but I’ve never read a book that actually depicts and celebrates female friendship. It is for that reason that I’ve decided to observe Galentine’s day by reading a book that has been praised for its female besties, preferably one that doesn’t overcomplicate the matter.

One book that was overwhelmingly recommended to me when I google searched this was “The Joy Luck Club” by Amy Tan. So I decided to spend this holiday season reading, which is probably the safest way to celebrate anything while in quarantine. I also thought that in the spirit of “Galentine’s Day,” I should make some cookies for myself and my suitemate, the only other person I’m allowed to interact with because we share a living space together. 

My Valentine’s Day gift to myself! I haven’t give him a name yet, although I’m thinking Griffin for some reason

They’re called preacher cookies, although I have sometimes heard them called “no bakes,” since you make them completely on the stove without an oven. That also makes them incredibly convenient and easy to make. This was my first time making them alone, even though I have made them several times before with my mother. I stood over the stove the whole time, stirring together a full stick of butter, an obscene amount of sugar, and some whole milk. What I’m saying is, this is not the cookie you eat when you’re on a diet. I got globs of peanut butter over everything and stained a few surfaces with cocoa powder, but they came out perfectly. 

An obscene amount of sugar
A full stick of butter
The butter softens
The finished product
And my suitemate made brownies as well!

My mother has promised to send me some girl scout cookies if she ever stumbles upon them, so I’ll be supporting female entrepreneurs and eating sweets for Valentine’s Day. I’m wishing everyone a happy Valentine’s/Galentine’s Day and if anyone else out there has any recommendations for stories about positive female friendships, please send me your recommendations. I’d love to read them.

The Tragic Queen,


Back to School

So, after being shuffled around a bit: staying in Massachusetts, and, prior to that,living almost full time in Valdosta, I finally finagled my way back onto Sarah Lawrence campus. I’m back baby and I’m living in my school’s notorious Hill House, without a roommate, which is the best way to enjoy Hill House. 

I’m looking forward to boxy rooms, broken radiators, allergen-safe, mostly vegan cafeteria food, chipper RAs, and the skunks that roam the campus for which I have no words and tremendous fear. Other than that, there’s the northeastern cobblestone architecture that looks like it’s straight out of “Dead Poets Society,” classes that I’m doing well in, and old friends who I’d like to see but cannot due to COVID-restrictions. So far, I’ve experienced a system that forces me to only leave my dorm room to pick up food that is to be eaten in my room and a water shortage, in which my building and several others were without running water for a few hours, because of a water main break.  

My desk is already messy, the dishes are already stacked, and I’m always one Netflix binge-watch away from being behind on my school work (calm down though, I’m not there yet). 

My mother and my aunt dropped me off and when they did I got a chance to show them a bit of Bronxville, under the guise of strict COVID protocol, of course. They definitely understood why I love the place so much. We enjoyed the character and the style of the downtown, making an obligatory stop at “Slave to the Grind” and “Topps Bakery,” where my mother got me a box of sweets as a farewell treat. 

And just as I showed up, so did the snow. The snow keeps on mounting and just when I think it’s starting to thaw it snows all over again. A fresh batch of snow makes everything seem briefly calm, making me want to sleep all day. Snow and cold days are fun until I remember that snow turns dirty and that I have to wear all of those layers whenever I walk out. The only time I’m allowed to walk out of my dorm room is when I have to hike all the way up to the campus center to get my food, which takes a bit of time seeing as to how Hill House is several minutes away from the nearest anything. 

I’ve recently ordered some new posters and tapestries for my dorm, so that I can decorate it with all of the things that I love. I’m spending all of my time learning the things that they don’t teach you about college like how groceries are expensive, credit cards are dangerous, and disappointments can be frequent. Yet, hopefully the friendships aren’t fleeting, the food improves, and I can continue to do well in school, since it’s the whole reason why I’m up here.

I’ll keep you posted on how I progress.  

The Tragic Queen,


Retrieving a package in my pajamas

A Piece of Northern Winter

If you’re anything like me, you call any little shift in routine “an adventure.” This might be a way to cope with small changes, rather than to let them irritate me. In order to go back up to college, I had to first quarantine for two weeks in a state that borders New York and since my aunt and uncle live in Massachusetts, in a suburb of Boston, they graciously allowed me to stay with them for the two weeks.

As part of my adventure, I’d stare out of my second story window, as it occasionally snowed, feeling like I’m in that scene in the third Harry Potter book, where Harry gets to spend time in Diagon Alley in the weeks leading up to school. This might be a good time to mention that I watched a Harry Potter marathon while there, reaffirming how much I love Harry Potter. 

Since I’ve only seen snow a handful of times in my life, the mystique of snow has not yet left me, so I spent a few hours traipsing around outside in the snow and throwing a ball around for their chocolate lab, Lola. I read “The Alchemist” for school with Lola on my lap. I also had her with me on my bed while I worked on my novel, reinforcing my dream that I will one day be doing the same, except with a German Shepherd in my own apartment. When their dog isn’t outside tiring me out, she’s sitting directly in front of the fire, probably burning her retinas with how intently she stares into it. 

My mother arrived a week or so later and even though this is a woman who I once heard describe herself as a “furnace,” she still bundled up with multiple gloves at the urging of my father. I, meanwhile, wore my clunky snow boots, also at his urging, to ensure that my feet didn’t turn to blocks of ice. I was raised in a sub-tropical climate after all.

My mom, my cousin Olivia, and I went to the nearby quarry that was iced over. I once heard an artist refer to a similar scene as being in “James Fenimore Cooper country” and even though “The Last of the Mohicans” is still on my reading list, I know exactly what he means. 

This is what greeted us on our way to the quarry. I’m guessing that maybe we weren’t allowed inside after all

I rewatched “The Queen’s Gambit,” simply because I love it. I started everyday off with hot tea, kept up with the news, and mentally prepared to go back to college. There were plenty of great meals, with some amazing desserts in the mix. Aside from tiramisu and lemon mascarpone, we got special ice cream from “Richardson’s Ice Cream,” my treat once, and experimentally-flavored cookies from “Crumbl,” where you can buy cookies almost as big as your head, the only real metric of food in America. I am on my way to being a glutton for desserts, just in time for me to return to allergen-safe, COVID-restricted cafeteria food on campus.  

That’s just how the cookie crumbles
Just one more

Overall, I had a great time hanging around with my cousins, even when the pandemic made it very hard to do anything fun. If ever I’m in a bind again, I take heart in knowing that I’m welcome at my aunt’s house.

The Tragic Queen,


New Year’s Resolutions

Is it too late for New Year’s resolutions? New Year’s resolutions still remain the same. There’s always eating healthier, exercising more, spending more time at the office, or spending less time there. The whole idea of a “new year, new you” is frankly not true. For my part, I never want to force a New Year’s resolution on myself, so I tend to just not do them. My therapist told me once that a person can’t just change their behavior, they must first change their beliefs.

New Year’s resolutions also have a tendency to make you feel like there’s something wrong with you, as opposed to focusing on all of the things you’ve done right. 

However, recently I’ve been thinking about the small changes I want to implement in my life, and thought that I might as well make these changes and call them New Year’s resolutions. I’ve already changed my beliefs, so here is the rough draft of what I want to do differently this year: 

I hope your New Year’s Eve was as lit as this random one from when I was 9 and playing Pictionary

Less Social Media

I’d like to preface this by saying that I use social media less than most of the people around me. I’ve felt ambivalent towards social media for a while now, but my sudden interest in unplugging comes from the Netflix special “The Social Dilemma.” For those who’ve never seen it, it’s a hybrid of a documentary and a dramatization of how corrosive social media platforms are. The panelists are early employees and designers for every major social media platform, who state, unequivocally, that their product is not being used with the spirit with which it was intended. Not to sound like an alarmist, but these experts consider social media to be nothing less than an existential threat, that could bring about the end of civilization. The best case scenario is that in about two decades, the global economy collapses, unless some major modifications are made, which will only happen if immense public pressure is applied to these companies and it becomes more financially sound to solve the problem than not to. 

I am not holistically abstaining but I want to stop mindlessly scrolling on the Instagram explore page, where there is an algorithm set up to show me what I like by monitoring how long I linger over a certain post. I’m frequently exposed to political opinions, some that I agree with, and some that I decidedly do not, but I no longer want to see any of it. 

I understand the irony of me blogging about how the internet is bad, but I don’t think that all of the internet is inherently bad. It just needs to change. Until it does, I have all of my notifications turned off, I’m not getting any new platforms, and I am not clicking on a single video or news article that is recommended for me. 

More photographic evidence of the Pictionary that we played

Getting News Solely from News Sources

Once again, I feel like I already do this more than others. Recently, I’ve taken to watching the news and I know that the news comes with its own warning label when it comes to bias, but Kornacki will never tell me that there’s a pedophile ring at a pizzeria being run by the Clintons. My point is that it’s safer. I started watching the news when the election lasted days, then during the runoff, then during the certification of the vote, and then during the ensuing insurrection and honestly it feels good to be informed.

Also this New Year’s Eve when I hit the non-alcoholic Welsh, sparkling cider pretty hard for no discernible reason

Caring less about what celebrities do

I don’t really care who’s starting a book club, who’s writing a cookbook, who’s playing games with Fallon on his show or what reality show is coming to an end. I also don’t care about their politics or lifestyles. In the past I’ve enjoyed seeing their apartments in Architectural Digest and their 73 questions with Vogue, but I think I’m just through caring. Sure, I’ll probably watch them tell their funny stories on The Graham Norton show and keep up with Jane Fonda’s activism, but those are my only vices. At times it almost feels hard not to care about what they do, because I feel so constantly bombarded by their concerns, rather than what I’m actually interested in. Hopefully, now that I am going to be on the internet less, it will be easy to shut celebrities out.   

I have a few more personal resolutions that are just between me and the universe, so I’ll be keeping those to myself. By correcting these small things, it’ll hopefully allow me to achieve other things along the way. I want to feel unencumbered and less manipulated and exploited, as I’m sure we all do. 

The Tragic Queen,


And one last photo of me at the only New Year’s Eve party that wasn’t with family friends or relatives

Things I’m going to miss about Valdosta

I’m going back to New York, baby! 

I’m starting the New Year off right. I’m on my way to being back where I belong and back in action.

Me rejoicing

I’ve been thinking about what I’ve wanted to do when I get back to New York, once I’ve gotten the vaccine and the whole world has reopened up. But first, I think I need to make mention of where I spent a majority of the year 2020. I spent two months shy of a year in Valdosta and while I love my family, I understand why living with your parents is so made fun of. It’s pretty unsexy to live with your parents but my bedroom managed to stay cool, when it wasn’t cluttered with junk. I’m going to miss my tranquil, matcha-green walls, which are covered in postcards of icons and museums from around the world, an orgy of evidence that I love all things cosmopolitan. Then there’s the rococo mirror that I got, courtesy of the Turner Center’s Gogh-Green initiative, where they auctioned off previously-owned paintings and other artistic bits. I’m pretty sure that the word “eclectic” is used to refer to mix-matched home decor, so that’s how I’ll justify the fact that I matched a golden mirror with a silver bed and portrait frame, a far-throw from the symphony in coordination.

Speaking of my silver portrait frame, Marilyn Monroe now hangs in my room again, just like she did at my old house, and Raquel Welch stands guard on the adjacent wall in her subtle furry underwear. My painting of an exotic femme-fatale, who I have since named Scarlet, hides behind my door, right beside my aforementioned mirror. This and more is how I made the space my own.

Now, I’m on my way to a charmingly cramped dorm room at the notorious Hill House. I’m going to have to get used to shared toilets, a possible roommate, and little to no room for style. Yet, there are some things that I am going to miss in particular, such as: 

My kitten Calypso:

She ate me up and left no crumbs

There’s a reason why she’s named after a goddess… and no it’s not because I’m pretentious. 

She is a regal-looking cat, with amber eyes and slits for pupils like a snake’s eye. They say that a person’s cat is exactly like them, which is really fitting since we have the exact same personality. She’s antisocial, aloof, doesn’t like to be touched, has huge eyes, and wants the finer things in life. She’s always either lounging around in her hammock all day or she’s trying to steal every bit of human food she can find. I love her. She loves food. 

Apollo: (probably)

Apollo is more my mother’s cat than mine and my mom’s cat is a himbo (a male bimbo for those who don’t know). He claws holes into my clothes and likes to scratch a bit more, but that’s just because he’s snuggly and affectionate and purrs like a motor when he’s lying in your lap. He is sort of like a happy idiot–I say this in the nicest way possible–who always foils Calypso’s plans because of how loudly he clobbers around, while she slinks around the house undetected, up to no good. Apollo is our little lion cub: a mini king of the manor.

Tea from a local tea shop:

“Just Love Coffee” is an aptly named and savory alternative to Starbucks. My brother and I love it there so we took our 91 year old Great Aunt Mac there for a trip, since she loves getting coffee with us. It’s calm and uncrowded, exactly what a local coffee shop should be. 

Before & After
We explained to her what a selfie was as we took this picture
One last one

My mother’s tea

Throughout my year-long quarantine, my mother and I made tea almost every single day. By the end of it, I got to return the favor and make her some tea when she was in bed with COVID. I make my Earl Grey with cloves, half-and-half, and some valhalla spices. Usually, I had a cat in my lap while sipping tea. 

My pool house/art studio/conservatory:

It’s a pool house that I use, as did the previous owner, as an art studio, but she probably didn’t use it as a place to store all of our potted plants when the weather got cold. The plants being inside the pool house made it balmy and humid, so when I went to paint in the winter time, it wasn’t chilly inside. I regret not painting more, but I’ll be able to return and hopefully then I’ll know exactly what to paint. 

My job at the Turner Center

Since working there many of the people in my life have received some lovely artistic gifts from the Turner Center Gift Shop, whether it’s a hand carved pot or a locally-manufactured necklace. I’ve also sold a few pieces of art, manned the desk, answered the phone, and sold some of the gift shop merch to people who aren’t me. It was a great start to entering the workforce, because it offered me a great foundation that I can apply to so many other jobs. 

The house we just moved into

You’ve probably got to be surprised that this wasn’t higher up on the list. The shut down, having started when we were still stuck in our prior small house, was the impetus for our move. Over the summer we swiftly moved into our new house after eyeing it once. I unpacked, swam in the pool, painted in the pool house, played with my cats, and slept for copious hours upstairs in my bed, all while in that house. I also zoomed in for the first semester of my sophomore year and did all of my schoolwork, which included presentations, essays, and learning a second language, in that house, usually seated comfortably at the kitchen table.

Now that I’ll be up at college, I’ll get to witness the first one hundred days of the Biden administration and experience some college normalcy. Obviously, I’ll miss my parents and the few friends that I managed to see during this pandemic, but I am excited to be going back up to the place that I love.

The Tragic Queen,