it was the first day of class and no one asked me what i did on my summer vacation

not the close friends i hadn’t spoken with since before i went to LA almost a week ago. not the acquaintances i hadn’t spoken with in four months. i had been dreading going back to school because having to politely ask and answer questions about what i did over the summer is—like weddings or ladies’ brunches—my personal version of hell. so as i stood among the socially maladjusted performance studies phd students refusing to engage in the most basic interpersonal niceties either because they are all kind of oblivious or all kind of assholes or both of those things, plus deeply impatient with any cliche not rendered in an aesthetically interesting fashion, not to mention too focused on getting a seat and taking out their notebooks so they could just start rhapsodizing about deleuze already, i was—once again—like, i am finally HOME.