1. Cutting my happiness professor some slack and trying to connect to the class and conversations after spending the last two months retreating into myself.
  2. Listening to my Literature professor choke up while reading Whitman and seeing something in him that I hadn't allowed much room for.
  3. Watching my Dylan professor breathily sing along to Blood on the Tracks, transported to some other time in his life, looking like a sick ghost who's trying to reset the rhythm of his universe by punching his heart and the table, apologizing for not teaching us but, knowingly or not, doing something up there that's hitting home.
  4. Not taking myself too seriously, but trying to respect everything that I am and am not.
  5. Laying in bed at night and asking myself What The Fuck I Am Doing a With My Life, but falling asleep at some point and waking up knowing that I'm okay.
  6. Packing up slowly and lingering in classrooms and courtyards, because it's suddenly starting to hit me that, once again, I'm about to leave everything I've just started falling in love with (and trying to wrap my head around the fact that next summer my same old self will be wandering around some new building with new people and new anxieties).
  7. Trying not to possess or suffocate the fleeting, but wanting to look at it and love it and call it by name.
  8. Feeling engaged and disoriented and not really sure what time it is — messy, but in a really fucking good way.