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The End of Year Blues
I don’t have anything to write about.
I’m currently surrounded by a plethora of reading material: a marked
up copy of Gloria Naylor’s "Mama Day", a story from one of my fellow
creative writing students, Tim O’ Brien’s "The Things They Carried", my
copy of The Appalachian, and a stack of unread Rolling Stones.
There’s even a sad
pile of books on my nightstand, gathering dust as they wait for classes
to end and reading season to begin again.
Still,
I have nothing to say. I could write again about how college has slowly
eaten away at my reading habit or talk about one of my favorite
authors, but I want to talk about something new.
Sadly,
I have not a moment of time to read anything that falls into that
category, whether it was published yesterday or in 1986.
It’s
in times like these where I wish I could just drop out of school and
explore the world on nothing. However, it doesn’t really work like
that, at least not now. Not in this economy.
Then again, where would I, or any of us, be without our schoolwork?
I wouldn’t be able to write this and you wouldn’t be able to read it.
If
I didn’t have the knowledge my first teachers taught me, how could I
have ever cracked open that first book (One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish,
Blue Fish) and understood what Dr. Seuss was saying?
I
have to believe that all of this will pay off as much as my days in
Central Elementary School did, so I’ll bite my tongue and continue
forth in my endless stream of schoolwork. I will bear the papers, the
interviews, the tests, and the readings, knowing that my books will
gladly be waiting on me when I’m done.
The countdown to April 29 begins.
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