Don't leave a thing behind.

Sometimes I look back at the pictures I have taken and feel a little sad that there is no evidence of me in most of them. It's like I never existed.

But I guess sometimes that is the price you have to pay to have memories of everyone else. Having none of yourself.

Roses by the stairs

Sometimes it is the small things that make my life. Like how my mom bought me Tillamook cheese, the Cadillac of cheeses, my favorite cheese. Or how Rachel brought me a cupcake. Snicker doodle, no less. I've just realized that I have been using food as an example a lot recently. Like the whole crumble cake and stuffing thing. I really do like other things. Besides food, I mean. Like stickers, I bought some really fabulous stickers the other day. And the circus. I've never actually been to a circus but I just instinctively know that I would love it. Which is why joining the circus is my back-up plan in case school doesn't work out. Which isn't really the point.

Comme ci Comme ca

So yesterday this guy comes up to me as I am walking to class and starts talking to me in French. I had never seen him before. So we have a small conversation en Francais and he leaves. And I am left completely baffled as to how he knew that I know a little (un peu) French. A few minutes later I realize that I still have my textbook from my previous class in my hands. French, as it were. Mais bien sur.

Love remains the same.

I still eat chips and salsa for every meal. Nothing to report other than that, really.

She's leaving home.

Today I said good-bye to my dog. Clive, the dog that I used to ''walk''. Every day. The dog that I say that I hate but really secretly love.

And then I said good-bye to Moose, and the chill chills, and Meagan, and my blue eyed baby, my darling parents, and everyone else that I openly love.

And then I left.

But I'll come back. Just like the plague.

With a whimper.

I feel like my world is crumbling. Yesterday was my last day at Down East, Melissa is in Washington D.C., and my room is (relatively) clean. And, as if to confirm the crumbling, yesterday I dropped my cup with the dancing cows that say ''Hell-o'' on it. Shattered, or at least broken into multiple pieces.

No matter, crumbling can be good, as in the case of crumble cake. Or stuffing. Stuffing consists of mostly bread crumbs and is absolutely delicious. It is one of the only things I eat on Thanksgiving, turkey aside. And occasionally I enjoy the picturesque. Which is to say that I enjoy crumbling ruins because almost nothing is more picturesque than crumbling ruins.

Besides, my cow cup was not even my favorite cup. Of the three cups (well, two, now that my cow cup is no more) that I use my favorite is my little purple one (it looks blue, but it is really purple). I have had it since I was nine. And before the purple, I had a pink one of the same design. I used it so much that it faded from pink to a sort of white. And so my mother replaced it with my purple cup. Purple, because that was my favorite color of the time. I am as close to loving this cup as one can be to loving an inanimate object. Love people, use things. So I plan to use this little cup until the day that I die.

Ma vie en Vogue.

My pile of Vogue was becoming quite large. So I decided it was time to recycle. Mostly because I have wounded myself on them many times in recent months.

So I cut out my favorite parts and bid my pile au revoir. And then I made collages. Which is a Roberts' family favorite. We all just love to cut and glue and make collages. In fact, making a collage is the only remotely crafty thing that I can tolerate.

I think they turned out just smashing.

Remember the raccoon?

That raccoon did damage. It did seem like a rather large raccoon, but as I don't spend a great amount of time in the company of raccoons I really couldn't say for sure.