Right now I'm working in Campus Activities--it's quiet, and the pool balls are lonely on their shelf. I just came to the terrifying realization that I have to write 54 pages during the last five weeks of my Junior year, but I just can't seem to breathe life into my philosophy outline. Is my argument empty, or is it me?
After staring for a while at the Space Bar of Doom, I began to ramble across the dangerous and all-consuming Internet. And, somehow, I ended up perusing the name and etymology of every celestial object I could get my digital hands on. Constellations, asteroids, stars, galactic coronae, nebulae, super nova remnants... all of them have names. Thabit, Lyra, Titan, Alnitak, Peacock... Muttering these bizarre and beautiful syllables under my breath gives me an odd sense of consolation. I'm transfixed and I don't know why.
So it goes: ticking seconds, unwritten papers, and little bits of heaven tagged somewhat arrogantly with language. If there's a moral here, it's beyond my reach.
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