Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Right here in River City

So I'm randomly walking the Liberal Arts hallway en route to the library (which I love), completely lost in my phone (I think it was Facebook or an email or something), minding my own (in fact, believing I am the only one in the hallway), when I am called back into the non-digital world by a cheerful, "Hey there!" 

I'd left his class 20 minutes prior, taking my time to move from one end of campus to the other, calling M— for our daily after-school chat. I was thinking homework and only homework...

That he said hello when I was oblivious to his presence unsettled me. Aren't professors supposed to be oblivious to students in a class of 188?

I snap into the present and said hello back.

"How you doing?" he asked.

"Good."

It was standard. It was courteousness and nothing more. Over thinking displays the fact that even though I act like I'm not thinking about it, I'm thinking about it.

This does not help me. No, it does not.

I hereby commit to be good.
I'm not certain of the variables that define that state, but I'm all in. 
For the most part.

The smart me would be even more scarce. 
Especially when the coincidental is involved.
And even though they're delightful to write, 
the journal entries ought to be arid.
Desert-baked bone dry.

And maybe rapt isn't part of good, even when grades depend on it.
Maybe I should be absent again, without involvement of alcohol toxicity.

Damn.

Damn.
Damn.

My husband wants my attention. I should give it. I wish I wanted to.

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