I finally have a moment of peace where I can just sit down and update my blog post. From move in to my first two days of classes, it's been a pretty crazy week. I can't believe that only a week ago I was moving it, it feels so much longer, in a good way that is.
Classes have officially started here at C of I, and with them new beginnings. Granted, I hadn't expected one of those new beginnings to involve hairifying amounts of mustache puns, but I'm sure I'll shaver the experience nonetheless.
Because apparently I broke a mirror (or 20) in my youth, my return to campus yesterday was met with crisis.
After putting the finishing touches on my room, I was going over my schedule before classes resumed and my friend happened to notice something just a wee bit disconcerting, in regards to my Wednesdays. I have Intro to Film from 2:10-4:10…but my Poetry Workshop starts at 3:30.
Around this time last year, the end of summer seemed to be ending on solid ground. My future was comfortably set in stone; no last minute changes of plan were on any horizon. I had my books, I had many of my things packed, I knew when I would be moving back to campus and who I would see when I got there, and I even had a good, end of summer hangout session planned with my closest local friends. But this year, with only a couple more weeks before fall classes start, I feel like I'm in a state of flux.
I have wanted to go to France, and especially Paris, for as long as I can remember. I read the Madeline books when I was little and fell in love. I took French classes and learned the language and the culture. I read books about Paris. I hosted a French exchange student. And this summer, I finally got to go.
A few weeks ago, a very welcome email landed in my yotes account. It was from my advisor, Rochelle Johnson, who is returning from a year long sabbatical. Rochelle’s email asked me to be one of her research assistants for the fall semester.
My junior year is looking a lot closer this side of July, and it's becoming increasingly obvious that summer vacation is now on a time limit. In some ways, this is similar to my days playing in chess tournaments as a middle schooler--a friend and I will be playing a nice, slow-paced game, thinking hard about our next moves, when suddenly a tall, graying man in a suit slaps a clock on your right side, reminding you that you don't have all day and that you better make the most of what you have left.
The other day, I got a text from a school acquaintance asking after my fall schedule. I replied, and the inquirer made the discovery I think she wanted to find, namely that she and I would likely be in the same literature seminar. She was enthusiastic about the commonality because I think she had been worried about where to sit. Or more accurately, who to sit with.