The work is slowly dwindling, the books read pile up and the books to be read slowly grow thinner.
As I enter the final days of the semester the dragging hours of studying pall powerfully; I long for freedom especially when I look forward to a summer of work, class, volunteering and the GRE intermingling.
Constantly reminding myself that working with the notable scholars that I volunteer for will only bring positives sometimes helps, but then I dream about white Floridian beaches and glowing blue Floridian skies dotted with seagulls and palm trees and the little devil on my shoulder mentions that a great tan is also a good asset.
I long to explore the chilly twilight, forgoing the books and the work and the stress of even my beloved novels, half-written and coyly calling for attention.
There is mending and packing to do as the end of my lease draws near and still I resist pulling my room to pieces. Why, I'm not sure, as this year will be remembered as "The Year of the Roommates from Hell."
Jazz is my savior, for as I finish my last paper of the night and my printer sighs with relief, I curl up with a cocktail and listen to Harry Connick Jr smooth my blues away even as he underscores my loneliness in his loving satisfaction.
Some others I've seen might never be mean, but I'd rather be myself with all my trials and tribulations, victories and satisfactions.
Gute Nacht!
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