Memories, Bittersweet memories.
It was my first night of class at UD. EDT570, Teaching to students with Special Needs. Humanities, room 207.
I am not sure how to describe this, but I need to get it all out.
I love my memories. They make me who I am in many ways. Today was tough. I cried today when I got home.
The places. The rideboard at KU. How many times had Karen sitted there, looked up to see me walking down the hall, eyes gleaming a true joy to see me, red flanel with blue jeans.
She wasn't there.
The labs. Seeing a young man, long hair, typing. No, it wasn't Richard. Bogey wasn't there either. Saw some profs I knew, but I'm not thier student any more, so it wasn't the same. Couldn't log on there either.
Caroline wasn't in Stewart, not in the art building either. She wouldn't be hopping over the fence to the house on Irving. We'd not spend a beautiful evening with Sobe lizzard caps on the sofa on my porch. I'd not drop in on her at art class, or in her double at Campus South. But she wasn't there.
Campus life. The place is not my home any more. That hurt. I wanted it to be. I miss the place, yet there I am.
Bittersweet Memories.
...
I've been writing this entry over the space of an hour or so. Talked it over with a few people. I feel a little better now, and I'll be alright. I guess this will just take some getting used to. Thanks for listening all.
--Phaen
I am not sure how to describe this, but I need to get it all out.
I love my memories. They make me who I am in many ways. Today was tough. I cried today when I got home.
The places. The rideboard at KU. How many times had Karen sitted there, looked up to see me walking down the hall, eyes gleaming a true joy to see me, red flanel with blue jeans.
She wasn't there.
The labs. Seeing a young man, long hair, typing. No, it wasn't Richard. Bogey wasn't there either. Saw some profs I knew, but I'm not thier student any more, so it wasn't the same. Couldn't log on there either.
Caroline wasn't in Stewart, not in the art building either. She wouldn't be hopping over the fence to the house on Irving. We'd not spend a beautiful evening with Sobe lizzard caps on the sofa on my porch. I'd not drop in on her at art class, or in her double at Campus South. But she wasn't there.
Campus life. The place is not my home any more. That hurt. I wanted it to be. I miss the place, yet there I am.
Bittersweet Memories.
...
I've been writing this entry over the space of an hour or so. Talked it over with a few people. I feel a little better now, and I'll be alright. I guess this will just take some getting used to. Thanks for listening all.
--Phaen