Since the end of August, I haven’t thought about school. For this year, at least.
I have been so busy trying to heal, trying to study for the Law School Admission Test (LSAT) that I’ll be taking in October, looking up potential law school choices, and getting back into the swing of working, that I feel like I’ve found my way into a wrinkle in time. A sort of time warp in which because I am still at home, working at my typical summer job, I feel like I am still at home, and that school will be starting soon.

Until today.

On Facebook, my cousin randomly asked me to help find a poem suitable for performing in one of her college classes. I quickly grabbed my Norton literature anthologies, my treasured Victorian poems, and scanned my collection of literature – textbooks accumulated over my three years of English Literature classes, novels bought on Amazon, a pale green Shakespeare collection with gold etching on the covers (I found this treasure at my first library sale). And, of course, I was frantically searching Google for online texts of my favorite authors and poets.

I was in college again, doing what I loved. Only this time, no one else expected anything, no one wanted to hear my interpretations on a theme of Tennyson.

When my cousin began describing her speech class reading assignment, I remembered my Performance of Literature class. I remembered learning how to create space, not simply abide in it. I remembered learning how to utilize subtlety, how to move without moving, cry without tears, fly without leaving.

How I miss it all.

And as suddenly and unexpectedly as it came, my awakening is suddenly and unexpectedly gone.

But it did wake me up. It reminded me of all the treasures I have on my shelves, just waiting to be read. It made me come alive. And now, there’s no going back.

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