On Saturday morning, I woke up and thought I was at home. The dorms were quiet; no one was showering, going up and down the stairs, slamming doors, talking. All but a handful of people were gone by Sunday morning. I have a late final, so am one of the last people here, and it's a strange feeling - somewhat isolated, actually, since I've mostly stayed in my room the past few days, studying and practicing and whatnot. Moments, though, feel more familiar, like being woken up at 6AM by someone yelling in Chinese outside my room as they moved suitcases down the stairwell.
I picked up a cold last week, probably caused by a few too many late nights spent hanging out with my friends. It's still lingering, despite the twelve or so cups of tea I've consumed in the past few days.
Speaking of which, I've developed a real love for tea these past few weeks.
I went to a performance of the Messiah done by the local symphony orchestra, which is one of the best in the world. They did it baroque-style, with a countertenor singing the alto parts, and it was beautiful.
I miss my friends, both those who go to school with me and those who are a thousand miles away. I'm ready to sleep in my own bed and my own room again, to shower without zoris, to eat better food than served in the cafeteria (where, by the way, they've gone into leftover mode).
I took a walk today. It's been nice the past few days, slightly warmer - 40 F or so. Something about the quality of the sunlight, the temperature, the smell of mud in the air reminded me of a birdwatching trip I took with my mother when I was younger. I don't remember where it was or what birds I saw.
I need to practice.
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