In another moment

I've been home for just over twenty-four hours, and I have already visited the library and worked in the garden (pulling out weeds, cutting off the spent flower heads, planting the amaryllis...). Somehow, despite of the email and the beginning of the long process that'll leave me with a few data CDs and 20GB of space (not to mention the heavy weight of accumulated papers that'll get recycled and remade into some other paper product), it doesn't feel quite real yet. Apparently the process of unwinding take more than twenty-four hours, and all I can think of were the last few days, remembering Annie alternating between lying prone on the floor and banging her head against something in distress, Hippo crying outside of my door as I locked him out again for playing with my notes, and Kate's voice, strained and in that slightly higher timbre that usually came before hysteria (Lucy, you know what I'm talking about, right?). I think of sheaves of paper spread all over my floor and pencils littered everywhere (mechanical, HB .5 lead because I don't have tests that came in scantrons anymore). I start listing amino acids in my head alphabetically then I stop, because I realize that it is summer and I no longer need to know that only one percent of histidine is in acid-resonance form at pH seven. Then I think, No, it can't be over. Except I know it is. And then I think, "It's over," and, "Another year's gone," and, "I don't feel any older OR wiser." Is it silly to keep expecting that? I guess it is.

Oh well.

Books and garden and stories and art. Ten days before I have to wake up early again, feed the cat, and bike off to another biology class.

At least the classes should be interesting.