End of the Year (And I Feel Fine)
It’s funny. This doesn’t feel like the end of the term. It’s the weather--the fact that it snowed yesterday, and I had to slide my way to class. Maybe something about the cold makes it so that it seems almost impossible to me that today I went to my Wednesday class for the last time, that all these classes are ending, that these exams I’m writing are it, that these essays are the end. This is not how the end of the year felt last year. I’m still wearing sweaters.
I find that I am both very happy, and very apathetic right now. Happy, because some part of me
knows that it’s the end of the term, and that I’ve quit my job, and I feel like there are good things ahead of me. There is so much potential right now that I honestly sing as I walk about campus (though quietly, so as not to scare away the birds and large workmen). I am going to be leaving here, this room, this concrete box that is supposed to be my home away from home. I am leaving these boys, and will not have to lie awake at night listen to their drunken laughing/ranting/partying, and the drunken laughing/ranting/partying of their friends. Not to mention their drunken vomiting. (Oh, the things I have heard that I never want to hear again.)
There is writing in my future (much writing!) and a new job (I hope!) and a vacation with friends I miss beyond words. These are good things.
I am simply apathetic about what I must go through to get there. Look at me, writing a journal entry instead of an essay that’s due Friday. An essay that I’ve only written 166 words of so far. And I just don’t care. I want to watch TV, and read interesting books, and oh, sweet lord, how I want to SLEEP! And I’m going out to lunch tomorrow with friends from class, and to dinner tomorrow with friends from work, and when the hell am I supposed to find time to write this thing? Don’t know. Don’t care.
I am past counting days. According to my brain, I’m already done.
