emily (voiceofyoureyes) wrote,

  • Mood:

silent as the foot of time

Something about today has made me feel more like a college student that ever before. That’s “college” and not “Swarthmore,” and for some reason there’s a major difference. I tried to explain why last night and failed miserably; maybe it’s because it was past my bed time, maybe it’s because I was lying on the landing halfway down the stairs trying to have a personal conversation in a public space. It’s raining today, but I doubt that’s it, though it is a funny kind of rain, where the drops are far apart and the overall affect is silence instead of constant noise.

What is it about today? I had two lunches, one outside before the rain began and one inside which was only gossip and mint tea for me. I spent half an hour with my French teacher planning out what I’m going to say to the class about Baudelaire on Friday. I met with a WA (writing associate) to talk about my English paper and I came away from it frightened and excited. She made me feel like I hadn’t thought about it hard enough (okay, I hadn’t, that’s the whole point of a rough draft and having someone edit it) and also said some very perfect things that hopefully I will be able to remember and successfully transplant to my paper.

Today is just the kind of day where things are getting done, and new things keep coming up that I need to get done. I have two wickedly clever and seductive cover letters that I need to write to major publishing houses; I have probably hundreds of pages of reading to do; I have to do research on la vie et l’oeuvre du Baudelaire; I have to write my sophomore paper (ie tell them why I want to do what I want to do all while ignoring the fact that some part of me is still not quite sure that it’s what I want to do; also, pick the classes that I’m going to be taking for the next two years of my life and try not and get angry at them for giving me horrible options); I have to manipulate a nascent relationship; I have to go to African dance; I have to get some sleep.

When I went to the bookstore today to get books for classes I’m actually taking, I also bought some Rilke just because it was the only thing for the modernism seminar that I haven’t already read. And the last line on the first page is, “The main thing was, being alive. That was the main thing.” Which sounds more like Salinger to me than anything else (probably just that comma), and so I simultaneously want to curl up with “The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge” and also return to central park and walk around lakes under saffron gates, trying not to think about those ducks but inevitably adding italics to certain syllables under my breath and resisting the urge to smoke cigarettes.
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