Pearson

wouldn’t it be nice

Philosophy, done. Math, nearly – and not all that bad, after all, though I don’t harbour high hopes for it, necessarily.

I went sailing today, because my teacher asked me too. It was a glorious day, but the wind was temperamental, and we ended up capsizing once, though we managed to get back on and continue. It was very gusty. And then my teacher pushed me into the bay at the end, which I suspect was the whole point of him inviting me in the first place. There was a great moment of pause where I knew I was falling but it seemed to drag on far longer than it should, and I felt disconnected from the physical reality of my body plummeting into the bay. It wasn’t that cold.

Things have been … funny lately, and I don’t know what to make of myself, people, things. It seems the older we get the fewer certainties we can count on, even the sincerity of our own emotions. It is just three weeks, now. How am I supposed to feel? Simultaneously relieved and yet so, so wistful. I have woken up at 6 almost every day for the past week, and minor monumental things have happened, and after dinner, I was lying on the path outside the Academic Building in the pool of dusky sunlight with a friend, and I touched my eye after I had played with small chilli peppers for ten minutes. It stung, a lot.

But mostly things are fine.

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