About a month ago, I had a major melt-down, brought on by lingering winter, bureaucratic hoops, and dysfunctional work dynamics. I thought about the day in the not-so-distant future when snow would truly be a memory, and Spring semester would come to an end. I would be *free* to read and write and create and dream at leisure...
Today is *almost* that day: pollen and lake flies whirl through the air instead of snow, and at work it's all over except for finals, grading, and graduation.
Despite my visible giddiness at the end of classes, as usual, my emotions are more complex, tinged with bittersweet sadness. Classes form certain communities, and the better communities have a harder time saying goodbye. Two of my four classes formed strong bonds this semester, keeping me thoroughly entertained, amused, and anxious throughout the semester. And so today we met for the last time to share a few laughs and last bits of writing advice (read and write daily. ask questions. think about your audience, purpose, persona, and message).
The in-jokes and asides, the frenetic and chaotic energy, are now firmly lodged in the past, a reminder that transience trumps permanency, even if the past, as Faulkner states, is never truly past.
(more on said *freedom* soon)
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