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.