Today is younger than tomorrow,
Yet older than yesterday,
A fleeting moment caught in the stream
Where yesterday’s toddler
Grows into today’s swift runner,
And tomorrow’s old man
Wanders with his cane.

The world remains a place of pain,
A ceaseless cycle of becoming and fading.
Yesterday’s lecturer, once a figure of wisdom,
Now finds himself lost to the madness of today.

In this relentless march of time,
Each phase transforms and redefines,
An unending journey from youth to frailty,
Where past roles dissolve into the present’s strain.

I’m sorry we can’t start the morning
- I’m still stretching and yawning.
Oh, give me a skibidi break,
why’d you wait to snake me awake?
Anyway, you know not to bother me
unless you’ve brought coffee.
You can’t just insist we have to leave -
I haven’t even brushed my teeth!
I’d love to join in your drama
but I’m still in my pajamas.
Can you give me a quarter hour?
I’ve really got to take a shower.
We aren’t back in school,
who says there are rules?
You know, summer loses its charm
when you have to set an alarm.
Does running late count as exercise?
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Kamala Harris! I’m SO hyped.
I guess Yale’s (5 member) Alpha Kappa Alpha ladies get to reify their nang now.
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Songs for this:
Mr. Blue Sky by Electric Light Orchestra
I Remember the Sun by XTC

It was 64ºf and overcast this morning when Lisa and I started our 5-mile jog to the New Haven Harbor and back. We always start our semesters this way. We’re emotionally ready for fall weather and hopefully, a long and cruel winter.

Sunny, Lisa, Leong and I were starting the morning with breakfast together. We have summer catching up to do.

Of course, Sunny never does the expected. Over a bowl of heart-shaped Cheerios in the cafeteria, she announced that she’s “really going to try this year.”
“That's a choice,” Leong admitted dryly.
“You mean academically?” Lisa asked, for clarification purposes.
“Wait,” Leong updogged, “Did your parents ask for proof that you were here?”
Sunny rolled her eyes, she knew she’d get trolled with a newfangled declaration like that, but she meant it and she wasn’t tempted to elaborate.
“You’re a phoenix, rising from the ashes,” I said encouragingly.
“It’s a 4th in a lifetime opportunity,” Lisa noted.
Handling university academics is largely a structural task.
All it requires is artfully arranging information and slices of time.
“You’ve got this,” I affirmed.
“Let’s not get excited,” Sunny cautioned, “One reason I’m so hot is that I’m emotionally unavailable.”
“It’s your best quality.” Leong observed.

Tick tock, we’re all still unpacking but things are taking shape. Senior year starts in 3 days.
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A song for this:
Suddenly I See by KT Tunstall
Don't You Worry 'Bout A Thing by Stevie Wonder

Three days in - three days of school - and it’s like I never left.

In school, you can get oversaturated with screens. I like books.
They have a sense of permanence, they don’t glare back at you,
and I want something physical I can grip, markup and push off
the bed onto the floor when I get over it.

After three days of class, I’m asking (no one in particular), "Are we there yet?"

I can speed-read if I have a pointer - I use cocktail picks (swizzle sticks?) - you know, the little olive skewers you get in a martini? I have a collection from all over the world.

If I go to a bar and they have nice swizzle sticks, I’ll gather a few up. “What are you DOing,” Karen, (Lisa’s mom) asked me as I scarfed up several from patron’s empty glasses at the elegant, Refinery Rooftop bar in Manhattan.

“I have a TON of reading to do,” I explained, helpfully.
“Don’t even ask,” Lisa shrugged, rolling her eyes, when her mom looked confused.

The trick to speed reading is your eyes (and brain) pickup more than you realize and people tend to pronounce things, in their minds, as they read, which REALLY slows you down. So, you swivel the pointer down the page, following the pointer with your eyes, and Walla!

You can’t do THAT with a computer screen. You need a book, and when you have 2 or 3 hundred pages (or more) a night to read, you can’t just hold your breath and refuse - like a seven-year-old - can you? Seriously, I mean, can we? I’m asking - though it’s probably a little late (senior year).

Now, of course, not just any appetizer toothpick or fruit pick will do - the selection process can be rather byzantine. They must be a certain length, about 2 inches longer than my finger, so my hand doesn’t block the text, and square ones are the easiest to grip. Finally, if they have a little arrow-point on the tip? Well, that’s true love.

The problem is, I can get a little intense when reading and they tend to break. When my roommates hear me exclaim, “God **** it!” At 2am. They usually know why.
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A song for this:
Easier Said Than Done by Thee Sacred Souls