kelly’s smart bullshit

by kellyduggan

The beginning of the fall semester is always a tug-of-war between old and new. A fresh start


always brings excitement for new teachers, new notebooks, new outfits, and new friends–yet


the mere notion of “back-to-school” always carries a restless nostalgia in its Fjallraven Kanken


backpack: we stroll the floors of Bailey-Howe reminiscing about the first time we did so as


freshmen, or missing hometown friends from elementary schools’ past, or fondly reflecting


upon middle-school lunches spent hyperventilating in the bathroom before we even knew what


clinical anxiety was. As I sped past the new Andrew Harris Commons, already late for a meeting


with my new therapist to discuss old problems, I couldn’t help but wonder: did I have to pee?


Am I hungry, or just a bitch? Is romance dead? When did jewels turn into juul pods? When did


the waltz turn into unreciprocated oral sex? And how, if ever, did Carrie Bradshaw make enough


money off her seedy sex column to afford Manolo Blahniks? I stared down at my beat-up fake


Birkenstocks in disgust. Was she hustling on the side? Am I horny, or just bored? And, finally–I’m


a writer, could I do that?

Categories: kelly duggan, water cooler


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