Penoptic

After bidding goodbye to K&J at the totally reasonable hour of 6:30 a.m. Monday (I mean, honestly, probably the only good thing about being unemployed is being able to sleep in--something I really don't think anyone can appreciate until after you've gotten up at 4:30 a.m. every weekday for months for a 90-minute commute each way, and especially during one of the worst New York winters on record), I packed up (and forgot a pair of pajama pants) and got on the road. But first, a pit stop--at the old alma mater. Bryn Mawr was my home for four beautiful years, and has never left my heart. I went around the campus, cataloguing the things that have changed (my old dorm has been gutted and renovated; there are hammocks outside the library) and the things that have stayed the same (my mail box still has the same stickers I put on it 13 years ago! Result!) Most of my coworkers from Canaday Library were sick and not in the office, but one, Beth, was around and generously off...

There's nothing quite as sad or terrible as knowing that each moment you have with your friends, doing your usual weekend-getaway routine, could be the last time. I know that sounds a little fatalistic. What can I say? I've had some fatalistic moments in life. Sometimes we like to tell ourselves we have all the time in the world, that the things and people we love will remain in a more-or-less permanent stasis until we return. They won't stay precisely the same, but you don't expect big changes. You don't expect people to move, or change jobs, divorce, or die, or anything that would really change their lives beyond the reality you know. On Saturday night, I met up with my friends K&J at their usual Saturday night hang-out, where several usual friends joined up with our usual karaoke DJ, Tom, and our usual bartender poured more-or-less our usual drinks as we sang our usual songs. It was all the normal thing, which was wonderful. The only difference was, this ...