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9:22 a.m. - July 24, 2004
Memory lane
One of my favorite memories is the afternoon studying Shakespeare with Kirsten in Marston 214. It was late spring and the sun shone brightly through the whole-wall-window, and I remember looking up from The Riverside Shakespeare to feel the warmth on my face, and took in the room. The nubbly fibers of the brown couch, Kirsten's hair pulled back, head bowed over her notes. The bunkbed, the clean and sparsely decorated room, the cinder block walls painted the shade of blue-gray that never struck me as institutional. It was home, an important refuge after my relationship with Tasha combusted. I also remember thinking that soon all this would be history and the moment touched me, a free-frame of future nostalgia of college, the happiest time of my life.

Kirsten is married and teaches ESL, Marsten 214 is now a professor's office, and I no longer sit and read in the sun on a couch. That saying about time moving on is a lie as I realize I have fewer memories stored away of pleasure and contentment. For myself, I need to begin cataloguing my current happies, to recognize small joys and pleasures for what they are, like the minute breeze tickling my feet as I write this now.

I have much to accomplish this weekend.


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