There’s something sacred about being home. Yes, I’ve only been back in school for two weeks. But I find myself gravitating back to the place I spent so many years. I can’t seem to stay away.
Time passes differently here.
At school, the days are organized and structured. Two hours of class. An hour of work. Twenty minutes between lectures. Two hours until my roommate comes back. An hour and a half to squeeze in a workout. Three hours of homework time. If I’m organized, productive, and lucky enough, I can spend an evening in my pajamas lying around doing nothing. But, even then, time remains rigid in my mind. How many episodes of this t.v. show do I have time to watch? What time do I need to go to bed to get my full eight hours? When do I need to wake up in the morning in order to increase productivity? The things my brain does to get me through the day is exhausting.
When I’m home, time is elusive. I pass from one task to another. I get lost amid my homework and glance up to find an hour has already passed. I strap on snowshoes like the hardy Minnesotan that I am and plow through the orchard. I return to the house, rosy-cheeked and breathing heavily to find I was only gone for half an hour. I sit at the counter, listening to Mom and Dad make plans to travel somewhere warm and laughing at my brother, and the minutes slide by so quickly I cannot even keep track of them.
My life in Morris feels artificial. I’m trying to enjoy it for its merits, but really, it all feels like one giant chore. Plow through another day. Complete another set of readings. Endure the tiny apartment. Smile and be pleasant. All the while, all I want is to spend my time doing something actually meaningful. And I long for the comforts and familiarity of home.
It’s a good thing I’ve got so much homework this semester. When the weekend is over and I have to go back, I’m going to be so busy trying to keep my academic head afloat that time is going to absolutely fly.
Then I can return home one final time and figure out what’s next.
I can’t wait.