I've spent most of my day indoors, avoiding eye contact with the take-home I need to hand in by midnight tonight. Bad life choice, but they say to pursue what you're good at and I'm good at procrastinating. And making bad life choices. But that's for another blog. I think.
I went for a procrastinatory walk this afternoon around four to drop some borrowed books off at my prof's office and I was transported by the very air back to my childhood. With no breeze, the air was thick and warm and still; it could have been water in my Nana's pool on a perfect summer evening ten years ago. I walked slowly, breathed slowly, and let the deep air wrap around my legs like a watery blanket. It even smelled like summer at my Nana's house, and for the first time in quite a few conflict-ridden and painful years, I wished I could be back in the field behind her house on the highway hunting for bullfrogs; on her back deck feeding our chipmunk, Charlie; in her red-carpeted guest room listening to the traffic and her soft snoring on the other side of her thin wall as I fell asleep.
Back in my stuffy little lounge once more, after only a few minutes and a million memories outside, I am trying once more (but not very hard) to think only about this final. It's hard though, with both windows open blowing precious memories my way.