Sound leaks into my thesis office, wrapped in echoes. We're the kind of underground that you expect not to be bombproof, but you'd still come here first if there was an emergency. Not only because there's a pie and a half in the fridge, but because something about the white, pockmarked walls says "survival."
I work here sometimes. Those times are a blur of furrowed brows and scratching pens against gridded paper. Sometimes, I turn off the lights and curl up in my office-mate's chair and watch movies alone in the silence. Those times are little doses of total relaxation. I see the darkness in high definition. The cold floors shine sharply, reflecting the crack in the door.
Coming back to school after fall break has been strange. I've been cutting myself slack: breath here-sleep there. I forgot how to stop myself from feeling doomed at the beginning of the week, looking down the barrel at all of the homework that was ready to shoot me in the eye. Now it's Wednesday, and I'm ready to aim and fire. My job will be the only thing that falls by the wayside.
So. Okay. That's all.
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