After the first mile, my thoughts fall away and my mind goes nearly blank.
It wasn’t special when I first bought it, but I think in its own way, my coat came to mean something.
I’m a little late on a lot of things.
If you’ve stepped foot in western Virginia for more than five minutes during your lifetime, you’ve likely noticed two things — there are a lot of mountains and a strangely disproportionate number of people who like to climb them.
My language is unique not only because of how it sounds but more so because of the way people respond to it.
My little brother and I have disagreed on a number of topics, but chief among them was the artistic merit of the band Nirvana.
I showed up at the inauguration to support my friend Jim. I was there, he was there, we were both wearing sneakers. The kids call that “hanging out.”
We all aspire to create a life for ourselves that makes others jealous or a life that we can rub in the face of our haters and competitors.
The thing about the fridge is it’s all right there.
I’ve written off schools, people, majors, clubs and organizations all because I’ve had a bit of information that I decided was enough to keep me away.
While you have this sociobiological need to be alone — i.e., to rest and recharge — you also have this desperate desire to not be alone.
I’m tired of being encouraged to be the best person.
Only those with exceptional decision-making skills would try one.
To be specific, I peaked during our homecoming football game. But it wasn’t even a big deal — I don’t even reminisce about Oct. 4, 2014 approximately 2:45 p.m. too often.
Though the students who host her may be strangers to one another and never cross paths, she connects us all in a way by giving us a each a special story in common — “The Night Mango Chose Me.”
Venmo is a hub for novel, unadulterated glimpses into our friends’ social lives.
I started my second major at the beginning of my fourth year which, in retrospect, seems like a silly idea.
The dream of every undergrad is to be paid to take classes.
I shifted back in my seat and popped in my headphones, in the hopes of a little shuteye on the ten-hour train back to Charlottesville.
We are the Pablo Picasso of losing, constantly reinventing the form.
