So...when some friend of mine today, while we were having a very lovely chat outside a Greenwich mod about finals and stress and Chinese food, asked everyone around in the small group what word they would associate with their first year of Hampshire, several people answered: "Liberating" "Self-exploratory" and "wow". Since the conversation had been quite heated at this point and people were moving on to things like ethnic food and etiquette manners and the differences between elders and youth, I had hesitated to say what word I had conjured up in my lovely little eighteen-year-old head of mine. When rubbing my chin with my fingers, I had originally thought that it would probably have been the best word among them all. But in the worst of all times, I came to realize that maybe it would reveal a kind of frantic side of me that would in turn reveal the fact that I had not finished (actually not even close to even finishing) my finals. So my mouth had invested a zipper for that time being. The word was "cheetah".
.....yes, it was "cheetah." Why? Well, within five seconds staring at spicy food and the lonely mosquito feasting on our legs, I had recalled bits of information about the nature of cheetahs during their hunting spurts: running like mad after beasts when they were hungry (or in my case, dying from emancipation) for ten minutes or so, rarely successfully, and then going back to their loiter-rooms under trees to lie in the yellow grass that's probably thirsty for their urine and slap that tail against their own behinds to swap away the flies while yawning at all those giraffes munching on tree leaves. Hah! Yes... story of my life.
Although I would certainly wish Hampshire spring final's landscape would move about 10 degrees towards the possible Savanna weather, there are many similarities. People slouching around on their laptops, looking scared in the airport lounge, burning away their fingertips on the keyboard to accommodate for the fifteen cigarettes they could have smoked in the past two days and everyone just trying to survive but only moving inch by inch idly in this nasty, breath-crippling air of smothering stress heat, leaving their personal lives to lose their green to the stale yellow.
Seriously, how do professors do it? Are they just 30 feet tall giraffes that have resources to more inaccessible areas of nutrition and only collapse when students probe at their lanky, knuckly legs with hoards of emailed papers, replying then with short sentences and exclamation points?
My cerebral spinal fluid is evaporating. I should sleep soon and let myself cool off. Maybe a glass of water should do. Yeah...I think I'll do just that.
Tags: finals, gosh, hampshire college
Current Mood: disoriented
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