Spring break is approaching a little too slowly for my liking. I’m slaving away over books exam prep, yearning for the relief of my upcoming holiday. My professor is at a conference and instead of giving us a day off, she prepared online YouTube lectures. Joy. It is reintroducing me to T.S. Eliot and The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, making me nostalgic for high school and the book of T.S. Eliot poems I stole out of the Creative Writing library upon my graduation. There were about five copies, and I wanted to remain apart of that life even after I left it. I went to an arts high school called the Orange County High School of the Arts, majoring in Creative Writing. This was, t this day, the best decision I ever made. It was definitely a different type of education with block scheduling; the academic day ended at 2:00 and conservatory (art classes) began at 2:30. I took classes like Origins and Sources of Fiction along with a slew of more normal classes like novel writing, poetry, screenplays, songwriting, and poetry. Sigh. So now, instead of having a free night, I am here, on Saint Patrick’s Day, in my dorm, alone, working on my homework.
On another note, I’ve been feeling incredibly nostalgic, which may have prompted my trip down (excuse the cliché) memory lane. I’ve been rummaging through old photographs and such, maybe trying to hold onto them as the time keeps slipping away.
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