Back to school
For me, the end of summer is rife with long sessions of inner turmoil and conflict.
On the one hand, I could be throwing my things into crates and getting them in the car. That way, I can drive down the turnpike this afternoon and get to Oberlin in time to check in and get my room key.
On the other hand, my blog cries out to be updated.
On the one hand, there is obviously nothing better than the prospect of something starting anew. I get tingly just thinking about a new school year. The routine and homework drudgery seem miles away. On my mind are new places, new classes, new people, and a fresh start. Bad habits of last year, begone. Watch me finish my homework before midnight, start papers when they're assigned, practice consistently, keep my room tidy, and eat breakfast every morning. But mostly: Hello, new ballpoint pens. Let the prolific margin doodling begin.
On the other hand, SUMMER, where have you gone? And what's with the chill in the air? There is a bittersweet edge to leaving. I've been at home most of the summer. I like home. My brother left for his first year of college a couple weeks ago. My sister is starting high school this week. It was good to spend time with them. I'm also leaving behind a stack of sewing projects (why I suddenly feel creative and compelled to dig into them days before I leave, I do not know), books I probably won't finish if I bring them to school, my kitchen (co-op kitchens are just not the same), unscheduled days, and a back-to-being-long-distance boyfriend. Even if part of me is excited, sometimes it's hard for me to change and switch gears.
But change happens. That's good.
I was actually in Oberlin on Thursday, there to teach piano lessons for the evening but not yet to stay. Full of first-years whose faces I didn't recognize, it was strange. The campus had the same feel to it, though. It's the always-familiar feel, the this-is-right feel, I'm-glad-I-go-to-school-here feel.
Time to pack.