So I will be taking Mesoamerican Archaeology and some more courses about the near/mideast in a moment. And I have to admit, I’m standing back and wondering how the hell I got to where I am. Not that it’s a bad sort of a place to be… Just not the sort of thing I’d have imagined when I was 16 years old.
Time flies. It’s a decade since then. I’m remembering pumping endless quarters into Space Harrier and running through the park at 2:00 AM and having a meal at Buddy’s and every girl I’ve ever kissed. Soon as I’m done, I’ll be ready to move on with it. Sometimes I see people on campus and I think I recognize them from days past, but I never stop them and say hello. It’s always better to remember than to re-experience.
Some moments, one is sure that anything is possible.
The response: an ethereal chorus
on every side, a hurried song
among the whispering trees —
they are endless yellow mayflies,
jumping and reeling,
a whirlwind of butterflies’ wings.
To speak or to listen? Which is the correct choice? Of course, there isn’t a correct choice… and [of course] one always feels that one of the choices must be “more” correct than the other one…
Ah, well. Time for a drink.