2008 Woodie Awards
Let Me Explain: One page at a time
Katie Lewis
Issue date: 5/4/07 Section: The Arts
That old familiar feeling is back again. Let me explain.
What is it about this time of year that makes restlessness shake our thought processes? It's almost summer yet again, and we're one step closer to having to make huge decisions about jobs and relationships and living arrangements. It's terrifying, and we're half-tempted to let that fire inside of us burn out while we take the easy route of moving back home, landing an effortless job, getting married, popping out babies and allowing college to remain as the last recognizable challenge. We can name people from high school who have done just that and, despite their façade of happiness, we pity them. "Don't we all want more for ourselves?" we ask.
The future is scary; everyone realizes this. My parents are starting to look older, my brother is going to college next year and our dog can barely make it up the stairs. When did this happen? How did everyone except me age light years in the three years that I've been at SLU? My best friend's dad passed away last week, and I kept thinking, "No. It isn't time for this yet. We're all too young for this now."
Yesterday was my last day of classes for my junior year of college. What? I have no idea how that happened. I don't recall the classes, friendships and events of the past three years. I've no recollection of taking exams and passing classes. I can only assume that I fudged my way through and that the professors passed me out of frustrated pity. I don't feel any older; numbers are just being added onto my age.
What happened to those late weekend nights during high school, leaving friends' houses and taking the interstate home at 2 a.m., singing at the top of our lungs? Someone needs to stop this train so that I can appreciate the way that things were: The way my parents ooh'ed and ahh'ed over report cards, the way I'd make my brother be the dog when we played house, the way our real dog would rest his head on my arm when we drove somewhere …
What is it about this time of year that makes restlessness shake our thought processes? It's almost summer yet again, and we're one step closer to having to make huge decisions about jobs and relationships and living arrangements. It's terrifying, and we're half-tempted to let that fire inside of us burn out while we take the easy route of moving back home, landing an effortless job, getting married, popping out babies and allowing college to remain as the last recognizable challenge. We can name people from high school who have done just that and, despite their façade of happiness, we pity them. "Don't we all want more for ourselves?" we ask.
The future is scary; everyone realizes this. My parents are starting to look older, my brother is going to college next year and our dog can barely make it up the stairs. When did this happen? How did everyone except me age light years in the three years that I've been at SLU? My best friend's dad passed away last week, and I kept thinking, "No. It isn't time for this yet. We're all too young for this now."
Yesterday was my last day of classes for my junior year of college. What? I have no idea how that happened. I don't recall the classes, friendships and events of the past three years. I've no recollection of taking exams and passing classes. I can only assume that I fudged my way through and that the professors passed me out of frustrated pity. I don't feel any older; numbers are just being added onto my age.
What happened to those late weekend nights during high school, leaving friends' houses and taking the interstate home at 2 a.m., singing at the top of our lungs? Someone needs to stop this train so that I can appreciate the way that things were: The way my parents ooh'ed and ahh'ed over report cards, the way I'd make my brother be the dog when we played house, the way our real dog would rest his head on my arm when we drove somewhere …
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