In fifth or sixth grade, once April hit, I used to count the days until summer vacation. I wanted nothing more than to pass the days away at camp or in the pool or on the beach or on the playing fields.
One night this week, I counted the days until graduation. Too few: roughly six weeks. I remembered all the days I had wanted time to race forward. Now, I just want it to slow down.
To slow down so I can quickly overstuff it with thesis research, writing papers, evenings spent with friends, walks to and from downtown, movies, late nights, early mornings, cups of coffee from the Barge, reading articles and novels and scholarly journals for class, issues of the Maroon-News, taking pictures for the yearbook, giving tours, seeing concerts on campus, meeting people I’ve never met, solidifying friendships I’ve built for years, watching the snow melt and time turn from winter to spring to summer, to graduation.