But then again I'm not unused to this feeling, this hanging, grimly turning panic. I've faced it down before, and always, unfailingly, there's that voice in the back of my head reassuring me that it's going to be okay, that all my procrastination will have no lasting harm, that the tests will come and go and I will emerge with solid grades and an intact pride.
Yet that was then, before Harvard, before all the liquor and all the late nights (I went to sleep at five in Grant's room last night), and stored-value T tickets (to Arlington and Park Street and Boylston). That was before I let myself get swept away by Boston and Cambridge and the life that I knew I wanted but now am not sure I am meant for. Today I shopped. Yesterday I wrote expos and cooked. Tomorrow I'll do whatever it takes to forget tonight I'm sure. And in the end, I'm hoping, fingers crossed, that it'll be okay.
God Reading period is stressful. The unstructured time for "study" kinda just kills me.
Bring it on finals. I'm bleary eyed but awake, swathed in chunky knit scarves and over-sized suiting, eating pull-and-peel twizzlers, and always thinking of home.
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