Catherine Borovicka

This weekend has practically just started. It is now after midnight on Friday, and I am all alone in this big empty dorm room (my roommate is away this weekend). I am playing some classical music to drown out the emptiness. I thought it was "normal" classical music - you know, violins, some piano, etc., but instead it turned out to be some really creepy organ music. It is scaring me.

Before that, I was downstairs in a conversation triangle (NOT a conversation circle). There were bubbles, and a dog who wouldn’t eat the bubbles, and a person who kept suddenly throwing himself over the back of park benches (who shall remain nameless). There were probably a dozen pizzas, some dried oatmeal, a bunch of hungry birds, and cement.

That is how I will remember Governor’s School. (Yes, I am succumbing to the power of the End-of-the-Year-Sentimental-Madness. It seems to be spreading uncontrollably throughout the student body, affecting the female side first. I can’t help it, it’s where I live.) The classes and meetings and late study nights, etc, etc, are pretty important to me, too, but there is nothing that sums up my last two years here more than a Friday night outside with dried oatmeal and bubbles.

Thought! Think about all the things we have to read in English. They are all just pieces of writing that were ... written ... to try to get a message across to other people. The message, of course, depends on the piece of literature, and its effect on readers may depend on how well it is composed. But isn’t that odd? Think about all the books in the world, all of them just trying to tell somebody what the author wanted to say. Those poor books will probably never get read enough to justify the amount of work that the authors invested in them, unless they are written by someone famous. So maybe we just shouldn’t write any more books; we have enough of them already. From now on, no more books can be published until every novel in the world is read at least twenty hundred times. That should give each person on earth a reading assignment of about a two thousand books to read in their lifetime ... that’s fair I believe. Let’s start a trend and see if it spreads as fast as the End-of-the-Year-Sentimental-Madness.

On the other hand, let’s not, I’m behind on my reading already. I am going to read "The Dawn-Breakers" this summer, which is about the size of five Anna K’s. Perhaps I’ll be reading it next summer too.

In closing, everyone have fun and spent lots of time standing out on the cement. Blow bubbles, take powernaps, and everyone mourn the death of Transfinite Joy.

(curtsey)