I’m not nearly as afraid of college as I was last semester. But, in the place of fear, I am very much frustrated. Not just because Omicron-Covid put my classes on Zoom for the rest of this week, at least. But, there’s something I can just sense is deeply, terribly wrong with my Literature course. Or, rather, with some of the students I’ll be working with. 

“I’ve never seen anyone so excited about new tires before.” Mom remarked as I raced to tie my bootstrings. 

When it comes to my own death, I have no fear. I’m unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you view it) very familiar with death. I have experienced what it’s like to die. I have had more than my fair share of near-death experiences. I am okay with my own death, whether it means I have a soul that will continue to live on long after my body dies, or death is just eternal, dreamless sleep. 

Note: Last week’s posts were pretty damn depressing. But, I feel ready to talk about the other side of the coin (assuming I have time). 

Nauseous, weak-in-the-knees, and deprived of sleep, I clambered into my Xterra with a soda in-hand, and shakily shoved the keys into the ignition and turned it. The engine roared to life, and I immediately rolled down the windows and turned the AC up full-blast, hoping I’d get cold enough for my body to ignore the anxiety and instead focus on avoiding hypothermia.