I write this sitting sprawled before a fan in an eighty-three-degree dorm room, bleary-eyed, beside an army of empty water bottles, Gatorades, and teas and a stack of half-read reading material, still undecided as to which article to expound upon in the paper due Monday, just remembering the Powerpoint I still must put together. The skin on my soles is sloughing off in nickel-sized sheets, and several nerves radiating from the upper lumbar region persistently remind me that they are not pleased about lugging a backpack all across campus. For now, however, I suppose they are content with the imminent prospect of bed, and have quieted down without the TENS unit to drown out their protests.
My first week at summer college passed in an eventful whirlwind; the second, thus far, has passed in a hazier muddle of backpack-juggling and tiptoeing to class to appease the protestant nerves, and a piano/viola concert that definitely deserved a missed dinner.
Speaking of which, in case you've ever considered missing four meals consecutively, I do advise against it. Protein bars and dry Cheerios can only replace so many treks to the dining hall.
But now this weary pupil must stumble into bed and be thankful for a whole holiday of study time before the exam on Friday. Last week's (rather unexpected) 98 set a pretty tough standard to beat, but there's room still for an increment of improvement.
I don't think I shall ever forget the spleen is on the left.