Anyone could probably go on for days about stupid things that people do and still I would laugh because going on and on about them would not change the fact that they happened. Hastily, I crack my knuckles and examine my biology notes. It’s twelve twenty-three and I am in the library, without headphones. The hum of people is constant, talking somewhat intelligently about school related topics, or laughing in the corner because quite frankly, they need to leave the library. I don’t have anything against the people laughing, but typically it means they’ve cracked. After two days of living among the books, you need a break. To go outside and breathe some fresh air.
The second floor is large, perhaps my favorite one here. The large, open floor is filled with nooks and crannies and couches. The buzz here is seemingly productive and people mostly keep to themselves. Though the wall-outlets are few and far in between, it’s easy to spend days in here. The lighting is that so you haven’t got a clue what time it is, or how the sky looks outside- It’s soft, ideal for reading or studying. But I’m not being productive. I’ve also probably broken a hundred grammer rules already, in writing this. Though I don’t want this to sound like a deep reflection, that’s where my mind is taking me, so here it goes.
There are three days left of my freshman year of college and I can feel myself getting sentimental and sad. Three days left.
Three months of summer between us and the next school year.
So many “lasts” for the year.
This past semester has been filled with confidence. Confidence and questions. More issues and attempting to resolve them. It sounds rather vague, perhaps because it is. It’s easy to forget, to forgive, but little memories will last. Nighttime trips to the beach, looking up at the stars, reflecting on life, exploring. Getting to see Southern California and San Diego, long boarding, learning to understand people, riding, even fitting in some time for agility. This year has been different, and good, and I enjoyed it thoroughly.
three days, to three months of summer.
Three is an art number, groups of three, they say. Red, yellow, blue. But one could argue everything is art, and art is everything. I would digress only to add that art is something that has been created: a thought, a story, a rhyme, a reason. The hum of the library continues on, I prop my feet upon the table, no longer curled up in a ball. I’m wearing long (ish) white socks with monkeys on them that practically say “humor me.” My proudly purchased $5 Vans from a thrift shop, I can be a nifty college kid too. I snap my gum in my mouth and smirk. It used to annoy me to no end, but now it just reminds me of home. My Mom and her gum-snapping antics.
I’ve got three finals to study for: Sociology, Biology and Math. Instead, I continue to type. To relax and understand. I keep telling myself I’ll study, I’ll find the motivation, when I do study it’s small amounts and I feel like I’m not learning. Perhaps I’m just ready for it to be over. I have to find a new motivation, a new reason. The pains of Finals. You just want to be done. Finally. (okay, too many puns.)
three days, three finals, three months of summer.
Maybe I should get back to studying for Bio.