When someone close to you dies, move seats
My first year at Emory is officially complete and to much satisfaction, actually. Every single thing that a student could want for one semester has been achieved: awesome grades, blossoming social life, six pieces published in the literary journal. And then some. This is all besides the almost getting killed by a tornado thing. But that's a completely different story (that and the whole dream about me marrying a French revolutionary who had this really silly hat - but regardless).
Several rather cliche changes happened also that would have been perfect for a CW sitcom: people I previously detested have become the closest of friends and people I once trusted (well, some what, not really) have finally reared their ugliest sides. Should I be worried that I have little problem casting aside previously treasured relationships like week old bread that's gone to mold?
I've actually been home for a while now since Emory has a tendency to whip hard but in a thankfully short amount of time (class end in April and we're generally home by the first week of May). And here's a little something that happened along the way back that's been a first, at least for me. Let's start off first by saying this: I'm impossibly, inhumanly focused when engaged in a particular task at hand. Heck, if you typed in: "IMPOSSIBLY FOCUSED" in the Emory directory, you'd probably get my name and photo. Anyway, this is just to say, whether it's studying 12 hours straight without food or rest for an exam or making sure I cross the street without becoming a fenderbender, I usually don't tend to think about much outside of what I'm supposed to be getting done in that moment. College has made me so...Cartesian.
So what I'm about to describe is an experience that is more than just a little bit surprising for me, unheard of. The other day, whilst toting two 50 pound suitcases across Atlanta, I sat on the MARTA subway and tried not to get my legs smashed in the tiny cramped seat. Because my suitcases both had, apparently, 4-wheel drive and could swivel any which way they so wished, gravity decided to screw with me and make them fling this way and that such that I had to throw myself over them to keep them at least within a manageable radius that wasn't too socially unacceptable. This went on for about 40 minutes. I kept looking at the color coded subway map, feeling like an utter tourist despite the fact that I've cemented myself to the MARTA more than just a few times this whole year (it is the NJtransit of Georgia, let's say) but still I suppose I didn't want to miss my flight (again).
There's four MARTA subways: North, West, East, South and in the middle there's a point in which you can switch to any train you'd like, taking you to all parts of Georgia you could ever want to go to. We stopped there for a few minutes and I found myself thinking, as people came in and went back out: what was keeping me from getting off the South train right now and taking the East or the West? I had my whole life right next to me in two suitcases and a Northface backpack; I had a whole month before going back to Atlanta for summer school. I wouldn't be missing anything in Jersey or New York. I wouldn't be missing anything anywhere. And nothing would be missing me.
I honest to god considered bolting then. I was so close I even stood up and got near the door and just kind of peered out like a groundhog at the start of Spring. It was a really exciting feeling. Liberating, almost, like I was in the middle of living a Great American Bildungsroman or something.
Of course that plan never blew over as you can probably tell. Some sort of rationality took over and I took my old seat again, settling down like an overstuffed marsupial with all my bags. I made it to the airport with 40+ minutes to spare.
I realize I've posted only once during this entire second semester. It's not because nothing happened (a lot of shit happened, actually - a lot of god awful stuff as well as a lot of fantastic stuff too). No time, perhaps to even sit down and listen to myself think, I guess. Now that summer is upon me like - actually, scratch that simile. Whatever I say is going to be a very disturbing image, I know. Anyway, now that I have a bit more free time, more posts will be appearing. An entire recounting of my first year as a college student might just pop up in small patch-work quilt pieces, who knows. Overall though (and let me say this before I change my mind), rest assured, it's been a good year.
Several rather cliche changes happened also that would have been perfect for a CW sitcom: people I previously detested have become the closest of friends and people I once trusted (well, some what, not really) have finally reared their ugliest sides. Should I be worried that I have little problem casting aside previously treasured relationships like week old bread that's gone to mold?
I've actually been home for a while now since Emory has a tendency to whip hard but in a thankfully short amount of time (class end in April and we're generally home by the first week of May). And here's a little something that happened along the way back that's been a first, at least for me. Let's start off first by saying this: I'm impossibly, inhumanly focused when engaged in a particular task at hand. Heck, if you typed in: "IMPOSSIBLY FOCUSED" in the Emory directory, you'd probably get my name and photo. Anyway, this is just to say, whether it's studying 12 hours straight without food or rest for an exam or making sure I cross the street without becoming a fenderbender, I usually don't tend to think about much outside of what I'm supposed to be getting done in that moment. College has made me so...Cartesian.
So what I'm about to describe is an experience that is more than just a little bit surprising for me, unheard of. The other day, whilst toting two 50 pound suitcases across Atlanta, I sat on the MARTA subway and tried not to get my legs smashed in the tiny cramped seat. Because my suitcases both had, apparently, 4-wheel drive and could swivel any which way they so wished, gravity decided to screw with me and make them fling this way and that such that I had to throw myself over them to keep them at least within a manageable radius that wasn't too socially unacceptable. This went on for about 40 minutes. I kept looking at the color coded subway map, feeling like an utter tourist despite the fact that I've cemented myself to the MARTA more than just a few times this whole year (it is the NJtransit of Georgia, let's say) but still I suppose I didn't want to miss my flight (again).
There's four MARTA subways: North, West, East, South and in the middle there's a point in which you can switch to any train you'd like, taking you to all parts of Georgia you could ever want to go to. We stopped there for a few minutes and I found myself thinking, as people came in and went back out: what was keeping me from getting off the South train right now and taking the East or the West? I had my whole life right next to me in two suitcases and a Northface backpack; I had a whole month before going back to Atlanta for summer school. I wouldn't be missing anything in Jersey or New York. I wouldn't be missing anything anywhere. And nothing would be missing me.
I honest to god considered bolting then. I was so close I even stood up and got near the door and just kind of peered out like a groundhog at the start of Spring. It was a really exciting feeling. Liberating, almost, like I was in the middle of living a Great American Bildungsroman or something.
Of course that plan never blew over as you can probably tell. Some sort of rationality took over and I took my old seat again, settling down like an overstuffed marsupial with all my bags. I made it to the airport with 40+ minutes to spare.
I realize I've posted only once during this entire second semester. It's not because nothing happened (a lot of shit happened, actually - a lot of god awful stuff as well as a lot of fantastic stuff too). No time, perhaps to even sit down and listen to myself think, I guess. Now that summer is upon me like - actually, scratch that simile. Whatever I say is going to be a very disturbing image, I know. Anyway, now that I have a bit more free time, more posts will be appearing. An entire recounting of my first year as a college student might just pop up in small patch-work quilt pieces, who knows. Overall though (and let me say this before I change my mind), rest assured, it's been a good year.