Today, I woke up, having been sober the entire night before despite Danny’s being in town, fairly well-rested and rearing to meet life at 1:30 this afternoon. After a quick lunch with Ian, I set out for the library to conquer my thesis. The Leverett library has become something of my personal den. Truly, I write to you now, a full twelve hours later, well after the library closed, from there now.
The lights are, for the most part, off. I’ve assembled a personal station in the center: a table for my laptop and whichever book, notes, paper or book has most immediate importance to me, a smaller table to my right just big enough for a library-issue lamp, and a large arm-chair for me. The floor has collected several stacks of parts of relevant journal articles alongside my socks and shoes. Because I just walked back from some bar in Boston, the Lir perhaps, on Boylston just a block or so from the Hynes Convention Center, I’ve draped my peacoat and a white oxford on the neighboring chair. Tonight I have not one, but two tuques with me — the red one from earlier before, and the grey one which accompianed me on my journey back from Boston. I tried to stay longer, but playing the sober card once more, and feeling the weight on an impending thesis, I told Danny that “I don’t have the energy even to pretend I’m having fun.”
This afternoon I brought the quillow that Qui’s mother made me and each of the girls to ensure we had some sort of quirky though useful home- and handmade good to accent our dorm rooms to the library with the intent of napping. Indeed I did. There’s a good chance I’ll do it again before long. The mood light is starting to effect me.
I set an after-lunch goal. If I should commit myself to math for a full hour, I’d reward myself with a trip to the pool. It was a long time coming. Last night I decided to shower once I discovered that Blodgett and the MAC both were closed for Veteran’s Day. A shower is a poor substitute. I stood just under the shower head, brought my hands to my face to capture the water, and held my breathe for what I imagined was the duration required to swim three to five strokes. Perhaps googles would’ve made my make-shift pool experience slightly more authentic.
But today wasn’t Veretan’s Day, so my goal was within reach. I can’t say that I spent that hour working on math. How could I; Lisa Lareau was the librarian-on-duty. We have a knack for discussing developmental psychology and its connection to education, usually within public schools. I invited her to live with Liz and Nick and me after graduation. She seemed somewhat relieved to have a place to stay during her pre-med post-back. Next she’ll have to overcome her fear of blood. While passing out informational pamphlets at a recent blood drive on campus, she fainted.
Right now I’m listening to a song called “At the Ballet” from A Chorusline. Its soft 1970s Broadway style works well with the light and architecture in the library. I should probably get back to weighted Sobolev spaces and spinors and sleep before lunch with Dan Aaron (not to be confused with Danny). He has been entertaining the doctors. Tomorrow Susannah and I are going to his house for lunch to see if we can entertain him. Should I not wake up in time, I hope Susannah will wake me here; I’ll be on the couch nearest the south wall. I have my quillow, after all.