cxvii

“A kitten is chiefly remarkable for rushing about like mad at nothing whatever, and generally stopping before it gets there.”

-Agnes Repplier

            Thanks to a brief moment of clarity earlier this morning, I realized one of the irrevocable, impossible, irreversible truths of the universe: it impossible to run with a backpack on without looking like a complete idiot.

            Unfortunately, I’ve had to learn that the hard way. Since I only have twenty minutes in between my two earliest classes to get from one far end of campus to the absolute other, lugging my books always ends up as a sprint to the Harrington Education Center finish. And it never ends prettily.

            I suppose I must be a funny sight to see to the hundreds of casual, sunglassed observers that I race by: my two-year-old backpack swinging from side-to-side in an awkward half-pendulum around my body. It definitely also doesn’t help that I haven’t actually exercised since the beginning of the school year, my face red from both the cold and, more than likely, just sheer exhaustion. And, invariably, I arrive to Economics with a guaranteed half-a-minute left before class starts, wheezing, drawing the attention of the two-hundred other people already in their desks, as I make my way to the very front of the class. It’s a great way to start the day, to be sure.

            My mother called me this evening, begging me to switch my class to another day set, effectively forcing me to admit defeat to the scheduling gods. But I will not let my backpack and my schedule determine how I live my life, no matter how often my backpack causes my shirt to ride up my back (very often) and no matter how tired the 1.3 mile trek makes me (very very tired.)

            Luckily, my long-suffering bike is now fixed. So this week is looking up already.