Shards of ceramic are not fun to step on. I have been meaning to clean them away for some time, but my schedule has not permitted for a moment of such cognizance. Furthermore, I enjoy the poetic element of having to avoid walking on my own eggshells. These little slivers came from a teacup and its abrupt dispersion after a rough meeting with the door to my single. The reason behind this otherworldly outburst is a simple one that I think everyone has faced, or should face. My dear friend and glorious patriot, the grand companion through academia, has passed on.
Everyone always tells you senior year is rough. But I stopped trusting people after the presidential election of 1800, so I never believed them. The joke is on me, because I’m essentially busy every minute of every day. Even now I am multitasking—see, I am writing this blog but I am also crying on the inside. My suffering is nothing if not efficient.
I’ve come to realize that I’ve always lived a high strung life, one full of self-induced stress and procrastination, masquerading as motivation and drive. And for a long time, it’s worked. I’ve always convinced myself that I can’t do work unless I’m staring the clock down, seconds from midnight, with my mouse cursor hovering over the “Submit” button. Dangerous, I know.
Learning is a process that I visualize not unlike what the creation of stars and galaxies may have been like; with analysis and creation, perhaps through the scope of research or composition, as something of an astronomy art form in the coalescing of constellations. It is this idea that there are multiple instances of existent thought pervading in an endless manner, lost to infinity. Therein lies the practice of appraisal and cartography of matters seen through a number of pupils past counting.
It’s not called Halloween here, it’s Hallowe’en. The apostrophe makes it that much spookier.
It makes sense that with all of the clubs and bars near the University, Hallowe’en would be a pretty big deal. College students, the weekend, and a holiday: the perfect storm. It’s not just us crazy kids though. The entire city was decked out in cobwebs, zombies, sugar, and streamers, all compensating for the fact that it’s been pretty quiet here recently.
I woke bright and early one Saturday morning, happy to have my last paper out of the way and to be headed into Fall Break. Dragging a bag of warm clothes, I met my fellow OP Explorers to pack the vans. Some strategic organizing was involved, but eventually we shoved everything in, and we were off to Yellowstone for the week!
There are lots of things I love about October. The blustery weather, the changing colors of the leaves, pumpkin flavored everything at Trader Joes, and not being able to change the channel without seeing buckets of fake blood spilling out over a new B list Hollywood actress.
One of the many perks of being a writer is that you are forced to do things you would never in a million years want to do. While that sounds bad, it isn’t. I mean it in the best way possible. Let me spin ye a story, traveler.
The scene: Friday of midterms. The air is thick with the scent of stale sadness and coffee. No birds are in the sky, no children play on the streets.
The protagonist: Me, a plucky young ne’er-do-well with a heart of gold, face down on the floor, broken yet alive.
When one spends their time primarily glued to The College of Idaho campus there is no greater treat than a visit to Boise. This is no insult to our home, for I do find myself lost in buildings and courses for hours on end, with a mind hungry for the atmosphere and a soul cozy in benches far and wide. I cannot, however, deny that Boise is a cultural explosion of experimentation that is bubbling more and more every day. I have been in the valley for about half of my life now and every year throws the horseshoe of creative freedom forward further.