The last exam is done.
The pencil scratched grey in the last pink bubble, which is to say that the last bit of my brain was emptied out on the cold plastic table and I walked out unencumbered by any frantic desire to know all the symptoms of Digoxin toxicity.
Suddenly I could care about stuff again. Stuff being defined as not-necessary-to pass-exams-stuff. Like, for example, showers and clean rooms and neat eyebrows. All of which were in dire need of being thought about again. I also could throw my alarm clock against the wall if I wanted to and no one would care—except me of course, who would have to buy a new cell phone.
It is, to borrow the feminine adjective, a lovely feeling.
It was a good semester. Hard—gutty hard sometimes—but full of those quivering moments when your hands get dirty helping someone and you realize that actions are deeper than textbook answers.
Still it was time for a break.
“Brain, come down from that bookshelf. Now. I mean it.”
“Brain, I’m serious. We still have 1000 words to write tonight.”
“You’re not my boss”
“Brain, if you don’t come down I will never speak to you again”
“Two cups of coffee and a chocolate bar and I’ll come down”
It was time for things to slow down. Yup.
Currently snow is fluttering around in great big swooshes outside and my red pillows are so comfy.
And I am cooing over my clean room—marveling how sometimes its not the fluffly pillows and the warm house that equal joy—but rather the knowledge that healing doesn’t just happen in the summer, but all through the fierce winter too.
Now for snowmobiles and snowshoes and having the time to actually enjoy the outdoors.