The spinach never goes the way you wanted it to.

I’ve been eating pounds of spinach out of a dining hall every single day for the past week and I’m still bloated. Whether it be the makeshift salad bar with artisan arugula and artichoke that’s never rinsed and left out on the counter to cool and sour, or the immense amounts of tofu I’ve decided to buy from Trader Joe’s in effort to keep it cheap and stay away from the meat; I still feel like I’m ripping myself off.

Just as well, this week has been the first that I’ve been back on campus at my residence hall in the West Village. I’m an RA there, and because of it, had to go through a weeklong training process. I’ve gotten to running 4-5 miles a day along the Hudson River- passing catcalling, flippant muscle-heads in speedos tanning on the sidelines and power mamas double-fisting strollers. There’s also a lot of dogs that run leash-free next to their shirtless owners; I’m unsure if the dripping sweat ends up on their hanging tongues.

I’ve got one month left at my gym before I’m able to cancel it for all time, until I move and realize I need to purchase a new membership, entirely devoid of student promotions and deductions.

From there, I’ll be running everyday, as far as I can get, before the December Cold starts to freeze my balls and the Hudson Wind starts to chip them down into a Testes Icee and I’m stuck running up the stairs in my dorm for an hour ever day.

I’ve realized that I’ve been away from this- more than I wish. Originally the goal was to compile a blog every single day- but that was over the summer when days felt like weeks and weeks felt like a bottle of bourbon consumed in an hour. I’m writing for the University paper again which’ll mean that I’ll be able to pump out more work on a consistent basis. So- new game plan is: Finish the posts from the Summer that I never got to, Post up the articles that I write for the Paper (preferably before the editing process and some Junior Editor decides to replace ‘Testes Icee’ with ‘Smoothie’), and then pump up another post out about either cooking on a tighter budget than my 32 waist belt, or New York City Nightlife, which I’ve felt obliged to reintroduce to my friends after always hoarding about at a local on-campus watering hole that serves T.G.I Friday’s style chicken poppers and Samuel Adams for $7 a bottle.

For now though, I’m off for a run and attend to a hoard of emails- I’ve left my Dining Hall salad in its compostable box and I can already see the spinach and feta beginning to decompose. I just tell myself it’s natural.



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