Dear Diary,

A lot of people refer to Wesleyan as a bubble, and indeed sometimes it feels like we’re living in a fish bowl. The outside world seems far removed and even though Main Street is a 10-minute walk away, going there seems like a large commitment. But this weekend I got up early, finally cleaned my dishes because I had to eat cereal out of a mug (twice), and walked down to Main Street.

If you have yet to frequent “It’s Only Natural Market,” the primary grocery store in Middletown, it’s your basic hippie, naturopathic, feed-your-child-beet-chips-so-they-resent-you-just-a-little-bit type store. For example, it sports the following Yelp review:

“This is the only place I know of where one can get raw milk anywhere in CT…” -Denise A.

Need I say more? Anyway, I went up to the counter to buy myself a three pack of fall-themed tea (pumpkin spice, apple cider, and hibiscus cranberry, in case you were wondering) under the guise of “self-care” because I’m just like that. I couldn’t find batteries so I asked the person working up front.

“Umm… I don’t think we sell those here,” she said. I could see the reality dawning in her eyes: We were surrounded by enough tinctures and oils that if you mixed them together they would probably produce a small miracle, but they don’t sell batteries.

–Katarina Grealish


Dear Diary,

It’s funny the places conversations can go.

This past weekend I found myself on the floor of my house common area, casually chatting with residents of my house.

Somehow we got to the topic of our first email addresses. Although it took some coaxing, we went around and shared our former handles: Some honorable mentions included and

But it got me thinking: It’s funny how old emails are remnants of who you were before. Looking at someone’s first or second email address can give you a good picture of what was going on in their lives at that time (and that they didn’t understand that email addresses should be more professional than my good friend catmanduud22). 

Now, most of us have new emails—ones either linked to our schools, or actually have our last names in them. But that doesn’t mean we forget our past email selves. Every once in a while, I go on and check

–Hannah Docter-Loeb


Dear Diary,

I jump

I lunge

I tap


Moving around the room

There’s freedom

And openness


I slide

I sit

I stretch


The rhythm pushes me forward

Like a soft wave

Or a strong wind


I crouch

I fall

I roll


My inhibitions melt away

As my motions become deliberate

And I feel confident


I elongate

I spin

I hop


Classmates watch

But that’s okay

Because I feel an energy I never have before


I finally realize

I am dancing


–Esteemed News Editor Kaye Dyja

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