Plunge.

I swam so hard to reach you.

Published on: August 6, 2017August 7, 2017Author: Vicari Vollmar

Good Design.

Two years ago, a former colleague slam-dunked a job opening in my inbox, told me to apply, and winked. She quit for the same reasons I needed to, and her gesture was a last-ditch effort to help push me toward an exit while she made her own.

Praise pussy for that woman, for the blessing she bestowed upon me resulted in (spoiler) a new job. And lo! it is good.

Published on: August 3, 2017August 3, 2017Author: Vicari Vollmar

Head

27 Years.

I turned 27 years old this morning at 6:49 a.m., and it feels really damn good. So good, in fact, that I hardly scoffed at the torrential downpour that completely soaked my pants on my walk to my office. The cards and daisies that littered my desk made up for it.

Published on: July 11, 2017July 11, 2017Author: Vicari Vollmar

Heart

First Date.

About this time last year, I was busy grinding on a frat boy, barefoot, in a $400 ball gown. If you were looking for me, I apologize—I lost track of my phone, my shoes, and my gin and tonics. It was a productive night. Continue Reading

Published on: April 19, 2017April 19, 2017Author: Vicari Vollmar

Feet

Save Yourself.

My trek to the grocery store via bicycle was an overambitious endeavor prompted by unusually warm weather, no food, and a lack of car insurance.

For the first time in my adult life I’d forgotten to renew my coverage, which was due on a Sunday, and I was too busy sleeping in and sipping mimosas to bother with things like bodily injury and property damage liability. Then I found myself (sort of) car-less with a naked fridge, and a sister needed to eat.

This is where shit goes south.

Published on: September 8, 2016September 8, 2016Author: Vicari Vollmar

Heart

Love Letter.

In 9th grade, I wrote a love letter to a boy. I imagine it was entirely dramatic—depicting my teenage longing and the color of his eyes with gag-inducing metaphors—but genuinely heartfelt, and honest nonetheless. And while I tried my hardest to emulate the letter-writing greats, like Oscar Wilde and John Keats, my letter read like a scene from Degrassi with the raw emotion of a Dashboard Confessional hit.

Published on: March 23, 2016Author: Vicari Vollmar

Head

Liar. Liar.

If there is one thing our parents raised us to be, it’s honest people. Growing up, we were given the space and the freedom to make our own mistakes with the expectation that no matter the grandeur of our follies, we would clean up our messes with a little grace, and a lot of truth. Liars were not welcome at our kitchen table.

Published on: February 28, 2016February 28, 2016Author: Vicari Vollmar

Head

Therapy.

The journey to her couch took six weeks of suffering before I arrived. I claimed one corner and pulled my knees to my chest, effectively shrinking myself to a pathetic dot. I assumed that if the world intended to swallow me, I’d go down easier that way. I held my feet for comfort, then glanced at my savior with total desperation—I wanted her to save me.

Published on: December 20, 2015December 21, 2015Author: Vicari Vollmar

Head

Pronounce the I.

Thesaurus.com and I were on good terms, until I plunked “self-love” in its search bar and it retorted with “narcissism” and “vainglory.” Then we broke up.

Published on: November 4, 2015November 5, 2015Author: Vicari Vollmar

Heart

Mixed Feelings.

I met him in a room filled with words handwritten by the lonely and the suffering, unaware that eventually, I’d thread him through my own pages, weaving the fabric of my volumes with our memories. I couldn’t have recognized the foreshadowing.