radio silence

I don't really know what those two words are supposed to mean when they're next to each other like that.

Hey, so two elephants were sitting in a bathtub. And the one elephant says to the other, "hey, could you pass the soap?"
The second elephant says, "No soap radio!"

I used to listen to the radio a lot in high school, but every time I go home it becomes more and more insufferable. Maybe Brown is turning me into a hipster who has no choice but to reject pop culture (either for being lame or for trying to pretend not to be lame). Maybe this happens to everyone though, and is a necessary component of getting older.

That can't be right. There are married people who still listen to the Kane show on HOT 99.5. Married people.

Love always,
Clara

in which clara rambles about sex and everyone feels uncomfortable

So I'm taking some pretty cool classes this semester, and one of them is called Sex, Gender, and Society. It's really a great course, and it's made me think a little more critically about a number of things.

One of them is this. This book, published a few weeks ago, is entitled Dirty Little Secrets: Breaking the Silence on Teenage Girls and Promiscuity. To be honest, I haven't read it, but Publisher's Weekly said that "[Cohen] seeks to identify the loose girl experience and help girls gain power over their own lives."

Now, what I find problematic about this is the question of whom these teenage girls are being promiscuous with. The issue (if there truly is one) cannot be completely contained within the teenage girls, can it? Is every adolescent a lesbian these days? Really? All of them?

No, I suspect there are boys involved. Probably teenage boys.
Hear that, everyone? OUR DELICATE TEENAGE BOYS ARE PROBABLY HAVING SEX.

Do we need the smelling salts, or are you okay out there? You're probably okay. But why? Why is it okay that teenage boys are having sex (that's just what they do, after all. Boys will be boys!) but if teenage girls are doing it, we immediately need to clutch our pearls and do an in depth study on whether they're doing it for the "right" reasons (hint: there probably are none).

I'll agree that promiscuity is probably an issue, and there are certainly kids out there who are doing everything that moves because it makes them feel popular, and those kids are pretty dumb. I'm on board. But let's not scrutinize the girls quite so much?

Kthanks.

Love always,
Clara

clara reads magazines again

Once again, I find myself reading Seventeen magazine. Why do I let this happen so often?

(Because it’s summer and I’m bored and I keep secretly hoping it will tell me how to really “LOOK PRETTIER THAN EVER!”)

Here’s what I’m absorbing instead.

Kidnapping boys is a good idea:

Good, because I’m guilty of this one. 17 says, “Just offer your guy a ride home. Once you’re in the car, you can slip into a way to extend your time together: “I’m starving! Want to go to Steak ‘n Shake?” Suddenly you’re flirting over french fries!”

Alternatively, you can say “now that I have you in my vehicle, you might as well surrender.”

Sex is the worst thing in the world:

I get that if 17 suggested anything other than putting careful thought into sexual decisions, they’d be faced with mobs with pitchforks and torches and such (people still do that, right?), and I completely agree that people shouldn’t run around putting zero thought into their actions, but this is too much: “… the bottom line is that sex is a big deal. All types of sex are a big deal. And just like you’d think long and hard about losing your virginity, you should think carefully about every hookup—and every step you take, sexually. Because whether your actions affect that virginity label or not, they still affect your heart, mind, and body.”

Maybe I’m reading too much into this, but it sounds like they’re saying anything beyond kissing will make you want to go home and cry. Not that I would know, because I’m a good girl who cuts things off at hand-holding. Am I doing it right, 17?

Boys are lying to you:

They don’t love you. They don’t like cats. They’re not in business school. They’re all virgins. And they’re all cheating on you with a girl named Jessica.

I am way not preppy enough to go to Brown(?):

People who go to Ivy League schools dress like every day is 4^th of July on Daddy’s yacht. What have I been doing without plaid Tommy Hilfiger bedding? Luckily, 17 offers me “preppy pieces [that] will turn your room into the most polished and organized study haven.” I don’t think even Princeton kids would decorate with this shit.

The tampon wars are getting ugly:

I guess that shouldn’t be surprising. Anyway, Tampax vs. Kotex. Tampax says it “protects BETTER than U by Kotex.” There’s a picture of a girl in a white bikini who’s saying, “At a moment like THIS, I don’t care if my tampons came in a little black box.”

I am cringing right now, for the record.

Girls are crazy people who hate themselves:

Seriously, we’re mentally unstable all of the time. “Sheila*from Antioch, Illinois, says, “I was feeling bad and decided to diss myself on Formspring. I hid my name and wrote that I was ugly. It only took a few minutes for my friends to respond that the person was wrong, that I’m beautiful and shouldn’t let others push me around.”” Someone please tell me this isn’t a trend?

Literally throw yourself at boys:

Samantha, a nineteen year old from California, says, “I use the crowd to ‘accidentally’ bump into a hot guy. Once you’re talking, it’s natural to step closer and talk into his ear because it’s so loud. In the middle of a crazy part, a quiet conversation can easily lead to a hookup!” Just remember to think carefully about every hookup, for the heart, mind, and body, remember?

Your friends suck:

You pretty much hate your friends, right? They play Egyptian Ratscrew at parties, when you really want to talk to boys! The solution is to invite boys into your game of Egyptian Ratscrew.

I hope we've all learned a lot.

Love always,
Clara

i haven't blogged in ages

There are reasons for this.

1. I've been traveling.
2. I didn't know what to say.
3. I suck.

Sometimes I forget that I blog for myself. I know that you guys read it, and nothing excites me more than someone coming up to me and saying, "Hey Clara, I hope this isn't weird, but I read your blog, and that post about [X] made me think..."
(Why anyone would think it's weird is beyond me. If I didn't want people reading my posts, I'd keep a diary.)
But all of that said, I blog because it sorts out what's in my head. The issue right now is that my head feels pretty sorted out, which doesn't make for especially stimulating blogging.

When I look back on posts of the past (note to self: this is alliterative), I love scrolling through spring of '09. That's when "mentally unstable clara" was born, and I feel like I got some great blogging done in those days.

The other issue is that every time I try to write something, I can't help but imagine my mom calling me up and saying, "I read your blog post!" and me wanting to (A) hang up immediately or (B) die. I'm pretty sure I'm at a point in my life where I don't need my mother's input on every thought that goes through my mind, but I'm inclined to put those thought up here where she can see them, which anyone would rationally argue constitutes permission to comment.

These are my conundra right now (why does no one say "conundra"?). And that's why I've been a terrible blogger lately.

Love always,
Clara

it's been six days

Obviously I suck a lot, but also I've been really busy between moving out of my apartment in Bologna, embarking on an epic journey home (in macchina, no less), and roaming the city of Bern with David for the weekend.

Leaving Bologna was sad. That's all I can really say about that. Oh, and there was a transit strike. That sucked.
The thing about the Italians is that they're good at a lot of things (food), but they're also not good at a lot of things (bread) (my priorities are absolutely in the right place). One of the things they're not good at is taking Clara where she needs to go on the day that she needs to go there. Instead, they are good at absolutely refusing to do this.
The train-operators and the related professionals decided that the day I needed to get home was the right time to plan not to operate any trains. This led to at least one nervous breakdown, but my father the saint actually drove down to Bologna to pick me up. Added bonus: I got to bring Stella the bike.

Hanging around Bern with David was great. I'd always known that my Swiss friends and my Potomac friends were different, but it's never been so clear... it sounds cliche, but I keep realizing how much I love both groups for exactly what they are. Heathens and snobs, mostly, but I really do love you guys.

Today I've been busy with a project that should be live soon. The d'azeglio girls will know what this is I think. Get excited.

Love always,
Clara

florence and le ragazze

I'm sitting in my kitchen watching The Office and reading The Oatmeal and eating italian cheese singles.
Earlier today, we sat in the park and ate cake and cheese on crackers and drank wine and listened to Taylor Swift.
I seriously am beginning to think I live a charmed life. Sliced cheese and cake and Taylor Swift and wine and The Office are some of my favorite things.

Yesterday a bunch of us went to Florence. I bought some leather sandals, and we saw the Duomo (which is much more impressive from the outside, not to be an Italy-snob) and had what was probably the best meal of my life. I had some seriously green gnocchi with tomatoes and bacon-pieces, and sea bass, and then we shared some cheesecake and tiramisu.

I really want to come back to Italy when I'm older. Maybe I'll work here for a year or something and teach English. Even to be an au pair for a summer later on would be awesome. I just need to be back in Italy in the foreseeable future, for an extended period of time, please.

Love always,
Clara

P.S. The woman who told us about the clips clipped a bag of clips to our door. The Italians are so much friendlier than the Swiss! In other news, I fail diplomacy.

letters to juliet

But really. We're going to Verona tomorrow. I'm wearing a floral dress and I'm going to hum to myself about love all day long.

I'm tempted to write Juliet a letter, not about my love life (interesting as that might be to exactly-no-one-other-than-me) so much as about myself.

I've been thinking about self-esteem lately, see, because it has been pointed out to me that one must live with oneself, hopefully, for a very long time. Unless you can see yourself as the greatest damn thing that's ever happened to the world, it's going to be really lame.

Rather, imagine you had a twin, but your twin sucked. I mean, insert whatever adjectives you will into the next bit of this, but in my head this hypothetical twin is awkward and ugly and always says the wrong thing at the wrong time, and people don't like this hypothetical twin at all. Now imagine your twin came with you everywhere and just embarrassed you at every turn, and people couldn't tell the two of you apart. That's a bit what it's like not to like yourself all that much.

There are parts of me that I love (and they tend to be the bits I identify with the most - smart, offbeat, cute, et cetera) but there are also bits that I don't, and I have to bring them around and feel ashamed of them. To hell with that.

And then there's the fact that commentators (I cannot call them journalists, but they are undoubtedly participants in "the media") are constantly throwing us information about how my generation is too in love with itself. We're too entitled and too self-absorbed and we never had to go all the way to the library to look something up and we should get off their lawns. (I really think that's all there is to this issue. The baby boomers are upset, like every generation before them, that the new generation is doing cool stuff.)

The point is, I'm trying to ignore all of that and reject this ridiculous mindset and acquire self-esteem someplace. And, as I've learned, writing about things seems to help.

Love always,
Clara

THE ARCADE IS ON FIRE

The last couple days have been a fantastic whirlwind that I cannot begin to describe. On monday I peeled eleven pounds of apples. On tuesday I went to Milan to see an Arcade Fire concert. Today I think I'll clean the kitchen.

At the concert, the moon was matching my tattoo (a waxing crescent. Getting anything waning permanently installed on my body would surely fortel a premature death, and that's no good at all), and it occurred to me that I'm nineteen, at an Arcade Fire concert in Milan, and this may be as good as it gets.

I mean, I hope not, but if it is, then it's not like I have that much to complain about.
How much in life can anyone really ask for?

Anyway. These are #whitegirlproblems. The last few days have been awesome though.

Love always,
Clara

sono stanca

Yesterday was incredibly busy, and had a lot to do with Taylor Swift.
Today, we went to the opera.

Last night we had a cooking lesson, after which we ate mountains of homemade tortelloni and tortellini (one is bigger than the other. We suspect that the line between a tortellono and a tortellino is relative). Anna Maria stayed over to help us out with the food. It was a charitable act of hers, really.

After dinner we decided to make some music videos to tswift songs. Around 12:30, homework had not been started.

So today, I was tired. We had class until two thirty, at which point Erika and Caroline and I decided to come home, take a fifteen minute power nap, and get work out of the way before the opera tonight. The fifteen minute power nap turned into a one-hour siesta. Any plans I may have had to do other things in that time had to be abandoned. So it goes.

The opera was some take on Cinderella. I'm not one hundred percent sure what exactly went on, but at the end of every act, the ensemble had at least begun to remove their clothing. I started thinking about a version of cinderella set in a modern day urban area, in which the evil stepfather (this version had a stepfather) is abusive and the prince is a senator's son. They would go to high school together and it would be a gritty teen film very unlike the Hilary Duff version.

These are the things that have been happening lately.

Love always,
Clara

iper-coop, et cetera

Yesterday was wild. Imagine you wake up feeling dehydrated (or is that just a euphemism?), meet your class in town and collectively shuffle through a medieval museum. You all take whatever opportunity given to sit on the floor. Then you grab a sandwich and brace your attention span for what is essentially a straight three hours of class.

What do you do? You take a 5-hour-energy shot that's been sitting in your purse since Spring Weekend.

That describes the first half of my day yesterday. Five-Hour-Energy is one of the best things in the world, I've decided, because it can make you feel alive again when you're in zombie-mode.

After class, a bunch of us decided that we would acquire bicycles if it was the last thing we did. We'd heard that there was a place to rent them near the train station, so we went on an expedition northward. When we got there, though, the man told us that it was eighteen euro per day to rent bicycles, and if we wanted them for any longer than a week it would be cheaper to just buy one. He called us a taxi to take us slightly out of town, to where he said there was a megastore that would sell us a nice one for cheap.

Megastore indeed. the iper-coop is a combination of everything good about America (i.e. Super Target) and everything good about Italy (massive wheels of parmesan). When we got there, we met an American security guard named Bob, who told us that the next day, the bicycles would be on sale, so we should come back tomorrow. We even picked out little baskets. Baskets were mandatory.
(We had this whole plan to go back this morning, but then we found out that you can buy a used bicycle in the city for half the price anyway. So that's what we're doing.)

Anyway, as long as we were in this glorious supermarket-on-steroids, we had to do some shopping, and then we just had to sit on a bench outside and eat Magnum bars and nutella and cheese on bread, waiting for a taxi to just arrive for us so that we wouldn't have to call one. No luck, but the cheese was awesome.

Then I came home, realized I'd just sat on the side of the road eating chocolate, and decided that I absolutely needed to go for a short run, so I did that, showered, did my homework, and we all went out to explore Bologna with some real italians.

Do you remember how terrible I felt when I woke up?
Me neither.

Love always,
Clara

last days in bern

I really ought to start packing for Bologna, but packing is intimidating, especially right now when my room is a mess. I don't even want to talk about the degree to which my clothes and such are strewn about. It looks like a tornado hit my closet.

Of course, the real explanation has more to do with my mother's birthday dinner, the Annabelle shoot, and never having any idea what to wear in the first place. Strangely enough, my room never got quite this messy at school. (I think the issue is that I have more space here. At school, it was never more than three steps in any direction to put something away. Here, sometimes I have to go all the way downstairs. It's a burden.)

Anyway, that's my life right now.

• I should pack for my glamorous Italian summer abroad, but packing is hard.
• My room is messy and I don't want to clean it.

This post would have been better suited for twitter, because I'm basically just going on about things that you don't care about. It's my bad-blogger guilt coming out and forcing me to write totally inane posts. I'm sorry.

Love always,
Clara

doodle doodle doodle

Last night I played approximately three hours of Doodle Jump. This morning I had an exam. This afternoon I have no regrets.

It seems that some acquaintance of an acquaintance was cited for torrenting "My Little Panties 2" which I am pretty sure does not in fact focus on the garment at hand.

Andrew: The question is, why would you torrent porn when there is literally infinite pornography that you don't need to torrent? What was so special about "My Little Panties" that he had to torrent it?
Teddy: I don't know, I think there's something erotic about downloading porn. You have to wait for it.

Andrew suggested that Teddy just use the slower wireless network. That seems like a practical choice. He also suggested that girls freeze up occasionally when getting with Teddy, to preserve the experience.

There was a time when four out of five people in the room were focused entirely on doodlejumping.

Hannah: Fuck my fuck!

When doodlejumping, expletives don't need to make sense.

Today I was in the mailroom picking up packages containing cookies and shoes (best post-exam rewards ever, by the way), and I ran into David's girlfriend Megan. I've decided I have a girl-crush on her so David better watch out. We had a whole conversation about their Japanese class and her shoes (which are great).
I basically want to be her best friend now. It might be an issue. I'm going to have to start using David to get to his girlfriend. David, if you read this post, please facilitate this in whatever ways possible. Set me up with Megan please. Thanks. Cool.

Love always,
Clara

the brown university mens social society

Also known as BUMSS. Also known as AEPi. Also known as the story how I may have broken my toe.

The formal was last night. I ran into Lucas in the morning and he was acting fishy.

Lucas: Hey Clara, excited for tonight?
Me: Yeah. You should come!
Lucas: Nah. Do you know the rules?
Me: What rules?
Lucas: We're not a frat, and it's not a formal. The venue thinks we're a men's charity society.
Me: Right. Cool.

Apparently the mill (an historic landmark) doesn't host fraternity events, so the boys had to get creative. It wasn't a lie so much as a half-truth anyway. They definitely do charity work, and they are indeed a social society of sorts, if you're flexible.
It counts.

The formal itself was a ton of fun. All of the classes had to sing their serenades (Friday, Girlfriend, Party in the USA) while the dates watched in a mix of shock, glee, and horror. I did my share of peoplewatching (which you must know by now is one of my favorite activities). It was all a marvelous time.

Then Benny and Alissa and John and I watched Silence of the Lambs.
Because that makes a lot of sense.

On the way out though (taxi back to the frat house, frat to keeney), I tripped on some steps outside. Take that not as an indication of any inebriation (blasphemy!) but an inevitable consequence of the two facts that I was wearing heels and those particular steps had basically zero friction. I had to pretend I was okay, because the only thing more embarrassing than falling down the steps is falling down the steps and actually hurting yourself, but now my pinkie toe is still swollen and possibly broken.

Not so good.

Anyone who saw me limping down Wriston this morning (high-tailing it to an ultimately useless review session at the cruel hour of 11 AM) should know that I was fighting through the pain.

Love always,
Clara

P.S. This has been a rambly post. Look at how much I care.

where were you?

It's 11pm on a sunday night, and thirteen of us are sitting in Andrew and Teddy's room staring at the projector. There's an empty pizza box on the floor (god knows how long it's been there) and somehow a dart stuck to the ceiling, and everyone is more or less transfixed by the screen.
Osama bin Laden is dead.

Rewind fifteen minutes. We're crowded around the couch trying to watch 2001: A Space Odyssey and figuring out how to cope with the lack of dialogue. Valerie comes in.

Val: Guys, I just talked to my mom. Bin Laden is dead. We have his body. Obama's going to speak in like, five minutes.

I get running around for an ethernet cable so we can set up the iptv (of course, it's unnecessary by the time I get back). Naturally, it's another half hour before the president speaks. We kill the time listening to BBC coverage while watching the faces of the guys on NBC and imagining they've taken on the voices of British women (this is a little too hilarious for some of us to handle. It reminds me of those bitches on the History channel). Stefan is annoyed that we won't watch Fox.

The president speaks. Bin Laden is dead.

We stare at the screen for a little while longer (Andrew had needed a projector for a martial arts event last night, and I think it's glorious timing to have such a setup in his room). People in DC are freaking out. People in New York are freaking out. People everywhere are freaking out. Some of us decide to go down to the Rhode Island state house.

We grab a flag out of Sean's room. Two flags actually -- Andrew insists that we also represent Britain in our display of patriotism, because we are unilateral and value our allies. We think he's a bit silly. I grab my coat, and we head down to the only location of any civic significance in the city of Providence, and there is no one there, so we shout for a while and pretend to give speeches and pass around a single PBR.

Some drunk boys from Johnson & Wales turned up as well, shouting with us, and we left when they picked up a cinderblock and realized their potential. On the way back, we saw a bunny.

Nicole: An impromptu civil demonstration and a bunny! Best night ever!

Kelvin was angry that anyone was excited about the death of another human being. I see where he's coming from, but for a long time last night I just felt awesome. Sorry for partying, I guess.

Love always,
Clara

i'm officially obsessed with sundresses and it's a problem

To be fair though, the whole campus looks like they've caught this bug. It's not even warm out today (a now-chilly-feeling 58 degrees. I do not miss winter at all.) and I'm sitting in the Blue Room looking around at all of the other people who presumably got dressed, decided to study on the Main Green, and then realized it was too cold to be wearing a sundress outdoors.

No matter. Nothing a cardigan and willpower won't fix.

Another clothing-type item that I've developed an unhealthy affinity for: my wedges. They were a birthday present (Thanks, mom) and they make me at least three inches taller, which makes me rather tall. I quite like it. Being rather tall also makes me rather intimidating.
Some people, of course, can't handle how intimidating I am. I discovered this at the orchestra party on Friday.

BlueShirt: Wow, why the fuck are you wearing those shoes? You must hate yourself.
Me: Excuse me! That was very rude!

Very rude indeed! I am more or less certain that he was just upset that I was taller than he was, which is pretty standard insecure boy behavior. Poor BlueShirt insulted me several more times over the course of the night, and I retaliated by refusing to learn his name.
Wedges, I have decided, are the newest and most practical way to sort out people who can't handle me. Thank you, wedges.

Love always,
Clara

spring is a waiting time

That is what I think. I think that summer flows, and autumn happens whether you like it or not, and winter is a dreary thing that one must make interesting on one's own (you know how I do), and spring is a weird time that has a lot to do with waiting for summer. It's kind of warm up here, but not warm enough, and I've basically resigned myself to the fact that time is just going to tumble forward largely uneventfully for the next month, and then I'll go home.

Then it will be summer and I'm going to Italy and I have a feeling I'm going to get really into the sort of hip hop that suits me (this happens when it's warm out, almost exclusively) like Childish Gambino.

Right now, though, I'm feeling the types of songs that I could fall asleep to, because to be honest I'd be just as happy if I slept for the next month (besides the small fact that my finals do in fact have to get done, and I don't trust my sleeping self to do as well as I know my wakeful self is capable of)

The Moment - Boris Smile
New Romantic - Laura Marling
What Will Become of Us - Passenger
Take Me Home - Germany Germany
Working Poor - Horse Feathers
Girl U Want (DEVO cover) - Freelance Whales
Thousand Ways - The Tallest Man On Earth
The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot - Brand New

Love always,
Clara

spring weekend

I skyped Sam at three in the morning last night.
At that point I had been at least a little tipsy for fourteen hours straight.

Welcome to Spring Weekend.

Last night I actually stayed in Keeney. I had sold my concert ticket (realizing that my interest in Diddy was negligible), and had planned on going out and running around afterward, except that the sky opened and started dropping water on everything.
Every time someone would come in wet I would ask whether wherever they had been was worth trekking to, and I don't think a single person said yes.

However, I made friends with Teddy's prefrosh friend, discussed socialism with Ken, and ate tons of rice cakes. And skyped Sam.

It was low key, but it was actually pretty great. I don't think I had the energy or the right mindset last night to go out and party hard. I've been in a weird place lately, and sitting around with friends is exactly what I've been in the mood for.

There's one last concert today. Someone named Dave Binder who sings old classics like American Pie. I'm always down for that.

Love always,
Clara

the last few days, in a nutshell

Apologies for the lack of blogging over the last couple days. I've been back at school, and very busy being back at school.

That said, the past few days have been uneventful. On Saturday I took a seven hour train ride from Washington back to Providence, watched a bunch of the first season of Greek, and read a ton. Upon getting back to school, I found myself more or less alone for a little while. Around 11, other people appeared, and we went to get crepes.

Yesterday I woke up, had breakfast, read The New Yorker (I love having time to just sit down and do that), cleaned my room, basically did mundane but relaxing things. A bunch of us went to Johnny Rockets, and both Ken and I spilled something on Valerie. It was all Ken's fault. I swear.

Now I'm sitting in class. It's Health Care, and today's lecture is an introduction to the regulatory system. The professor literally just said that there is no topic that sounds more dry than an introduction to healthcare regulation.

Of course, now we're talking about wrongly removed limbs and metal parts left in patients' brains. It's a bit like a horror film.

Love always,
Clara

train station

I'm sitting in 30th street station.
It's occurred to me that I actually feel like I know this train station pretty well. I've been to Philadelphia enough times to know where the restrooms are and what the layout of the bookstore looks like. It's nice.

Getting familiar with a location is something that I find interesting.
When I was younger, I'd go on walks around my town when I was feeling angsty. By the time I was a junior (about to move and having nervous breakdowns on a somewhat regular basis), I would walk halfway to the metro station by the masonic temple before turning back.

I think part of my vague discontent in switzerland last year had to do with the fact that I never really acquainted myself with my surroundings until much later. I have a theory that if I'd taken off and walked in arbitrary directions more often when I first got there, I'd have been happier.
Bern is pretty small though. I got well familiar with marktgasse in about half a minute.

My point now, though, is that there are random bits of the world that I'm becoming acquainted with, like the Philadelphia train station, and I'm curious as to what it feels like to have this kind of familiarity with the world at large. I could get myself around the train station in Berlin without much trouble, after all, which I think is pretty cool.

I need to keep accumulating these experiences.

Love always,
Clara

lazer tag

That's what I'm doing tonight.

After that, I will wake up tomorrow morning and get on a train to Philadelphia. Spring break has broken, although it's still 41 degrees up here in sunny Providence.

I'm going to miss everyone over break. I keep having these terrible little moments of clarity when I realize, Freshman year is about 3/4 over, and college is finite.
I've always had issues with change.

Anyway, I've been putting it out of my head. Bring on the break!

Love always,
Clara