Yawning, I look up from my laptop to give my tired eyes a break from scanning and rescanning my thesis draft. As my bleary eyes adjust to the half-lit living room in cozy California, it dawns on me that I'm not in school, nor am I remotely close to school. Taken aback by the realization, I pull up a Google chrome tab to learn exactly how far I am from Lewis and Clark College. Wow, 620 miles away from LC—yet it feels like I haven't left the Watzek library. It's a disconcerting feeling, but I shrug it off. I have to keep working. As I diligently type away at my desk, nagging thoughts invade my distracted mind: "Will I see my friends again?... What's the weather like over there?... What's being served in the Bon right now?..."
I stop what I'm doing and look up at the ceiling to tame the unending torrent of questions. I realize I don't have answers to many of them, especially the last question. As I ponder these things, my mind begins drifting to past memories. In one moment, I'm drinking hot chocolate with my roommates playing "Settler's of Catan," the next, I'm at Maggie's cafe, grabbing a late-night snack in preparation for a long library run. As my mind accelerates deeper and deeper into my memories, the past and the present seem to blend before my vision, becoming a multi-colored collage of fleeting moments and feelings that contort and pull apart before my very eyes. And just as suddenly as it began—it is over, and I am again in the dimly-lit living room of my uncle's home—the seconds ticking by like the flashing cursor on my thesis document. I take a deep breath and gently breathe out. I know I need to get back to work. After shrugging my shoulders and slapping my face, I type on into the quiet night.
I stop what I'm doing and look up at the ceiling to tame the unending torrent of questions. I realize I don't have answers to many of them, especially the last question. As I ponder these things, my mind begins drifting to past memories. In one moment, I'm drinking hot chocolate with my roommates playing "Settler's of Catan," the next, I'm at Maggie's cafe, grabbing a late-night snack in preparation for a long library run. As my mind accelerates deeper and deeper into my memories, the past and the present seem to blend before my vision, becoming a multi-colored collage of fleeting moments and feelings that contort and pull apart before my very eyes. And just as suddenly as it began—it is over, and I am again in the dimly-lit living room of my uncle's home—the seconds ticking by like the flashing cursor on my thesis document. I take a deep breath and gently breathe out. I know I need to get back to work. After shrugging my shoulders and slapping my face, I type on into the quiet night.