There are eight of us here, holding down the fort. I have the long watch. I see people across the courtyard in their little "weenie bins," each isolated and in their own little world. Some stand and pace, others lean dejectedly, just wanting to melt into their textbooks. There is food here, and drink, despite the rules that dictate otherwise. I've traced the path of the Sun before, here, in this comfy leather chair, and seen rainstorms come and go. I've played games, written papers, and stared at paintings until Jackson Pollack made sense. And so I stay here.
Yesterday we made Finalsaurs, like last semester. The amount of effort placed here into our little play-doh formations is formidable and endearing, because in our hearts of hearts we all want to be five again.
I should probably get back to studying art history now. I'm in the stage where I have studied dates and painters ad nauseum, but don't quite feel qualified yet. Perhaps I shall reread the book now.
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