The Bond House: We Go Full-Gatsby

In the bleak midwinter, we sat around the kitchen table and talked about Claudia's upcoming birthday. Michael and I strove to outdo one another in sheer absurdity ("Let's have a reading in the library" or "Do you think we could cover the pond with a plastic sheeting so people can dance on it?"). I can't remember if there was snow on the ground when we were having this conversation, but will imagine there was for the appropriate amount of dramatism. Weeks ago we started to carve out these plans and then, almost suddenly, it was time to actually do the thing. And we did. We went full-Gatsby.

The Bond House: Biscotti in the Car

Sometimes it's hard to believe that it was only four months ago that I moved into a house with Craigslist strangers. In that time, I have 1) not been murdered and 2) been exposed to dozens of people and concepts that have helped to make me hungry for new connections. Of course, there is a sense of bittersweetness to this. Because of the transitory state of many of my roommates, it almost goes without saying that all good things must come to an end. 

Waking Up At Last

Had you asked me a month ago, I would have told you that I had been depressed for a few years. Which, of course, was true. With the occasional reprieve offered by a "good" day or week, depression has been a constant companion. But it's only recently, as I come to strange degree of comfort, do I finally recognize that I have been in an exhausted, joyless shell for more than half a decade. And, for the first time since then, I can honestly say that I feel wide awake.

The Bond House: March Madness

As a poor, naive Southerner, I thought that we might see spring and put away our snow boots by the end of February. I remember in November when people would laugh at my optimism and I  thought they were jerks. March has come and gone here in the Bond House. Snow lingers on the ground, the temperature has barely cracked 50 on most days, and I'm still wearing wool.

The Bond House: For the Love of My Roommates

When I was in college, I  imagined that I would form friendships with a huge group of people, relationships I would effortlessly maintain for years to come. I imagined we would stay up late and complain over comically huge glasses of wine. I imagined we would have dance parties and laugh for hours. I imagined my younger years would be a lot more Sex and the City and a lot less me writing in a library for 9 hours straight and only seeing my three wonderful roommates if it was Plath-related.