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The final days.
December 16, 2007
Solitary days call for solitary play: rounds of scrabulous against a robotic foe who becomes weaker with each turn. Not that I don't have my own computerized dictionary, a silent partner who is especially good at finding 7-letter words to empty my tray. (Hello, 50-point bonus!)
Free of early morning class, my body revolts against the schedule dictated by the sun's light. Day and night have graciously switched places, and, at midnight, I am still pushing ahead. Each time I look at the clock, it jumps another hour: 9 o'clock, 10 o'clock, 11 o'clock, and onto the next day.
I find everything more interesting than the Lanham Act. My room is clean, and my links updated. I'm burning through the first season of Heroes, because each successive episode brings me forty-three minutes closer to freedom.
My resolve to study gets weaker, my distractions grow stronger. My left eye twitches incessantly, and my vision is taking its customary turn for the worse. My hands yearn for motion more satisfying than typing: wrapping gifts, holding hands, browsing books. I want to write holiday cards and take pictures with friends. This season's Christmas tree stands downstairs, waiting for lights, garlands, and carefully placed ornaments. I'm waiting for the moment when I can enjoy it all.
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