Typing from a tiny temporary sublet while we settle back into life in Santa Cruz, salads and tacos and consignment stores in this foggy not-quite-summer, happy to figure my way up to campus three days a week before we move into the Dream House on July seventh. Printing out resumes and in my best outfit, one bottle of nail polish remover until we troll downtown for my second job to supplement ten hours a week before a bout of cinematic regression in 3D; everything feels a little not real, like waiting anticipating until our actual life starts.
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