As I pretend I don't have a fifteen page paper to write,
that I am not actually moving out in four days,
that I most certainly do have a place to live four days from now, and the semester to come
that I am going to school next semester and will graduate hopefully in five years, or...six
that I don't have to do five peer review papers or finish my spanish project in the next five days
that I will make enough money to pay for rent.
that the girl sitting next to me talking very very loudly is probably drunk, because there is no other explanation to why my ipod cannot keep her conversation from reaching my ears.
All I can think about is how much I'm going to miss Sarah Watson living in the same room as me, and how I will miss Nicole as she goes off to Spain. And how I miss Augusta, and the people I love there. And how I miss Sarah Willing.
And I have refused to pack my things. My half of them upstairs room is the only place where you can still find books and posters and clothes and life.
I don't even like Hemphill.
And I am so sad.
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