Sunday, May 2, 2010

when the words don't come

As I sit down to write what could possibly be the last paper I turn in for a non-science class at Jewell, I find myself drawn here to express myself rather than the cold empty page on which my assignment will be turned it.

It's an odd feeling to be sitting this close to the end.

I've drawn away from those who still have years to put into this institution. I can see their immaturity from miles away. It's something I've never noticed before.

The reflection process is something strange to begin. As I walk through the buildings that I've called home for the past four years I find myself remembering small memories of things that happened in certain rooms, people who have occupied them, even the crazy things I have thought in them. It's almost like i'm floating through this dream world, picking items up, taking in their worth and saying goodbye before setting them back down.

Goodbye chair, goodbye lab where I put in hours of heartbreak and sweat, goodbye favorite pipetteman that fits in my hand perfectly.

The library is humming tonight. No voices raised in laughter or small talk, just the hurried rushed voices that feel the stress of the impending deadlines. It sounds a little like a beehive. Work is being accomplished at a dizzying rate by people who haven't been in the library all semester. And still my paper has a few lines splattered on it in reference to the first journal I have to review.

Goodbye rocker that held me every time I cried. Goodbye awkwardly large toilet bowl, goodbye bricks worn smooth by the trudging of college students. Goodbye bell tower...

The library siren beeps, pulling entire groups away from their presentations and papers. False alarm. The work continues... and still I have two lines.

Goodbye favorite toilet. Goodbye plug-ins in the Perch that I fought administration for tooth-and-nail, goodbye not-so secret Senate office.

The deadline looms closer, and yet I can't pull my thoughts from the silly unimportant things here that will be missed. Maybe you have to start with the little things before you can begin to say goodbye to the bigger ones.

Maybe you just have to tough if up and rip the bandaid that covers it all off.

here goes nothing.....

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