College insists that I constantly choose between happyness
and academic success. (Elaine, since being friends with you I can’t spell
happyness with an i.) It’s miraculous that I’m still academically afloat.
Because most of the time, in spring particularly, I choose frolicking over schoolwork.
My feet are grass stained, filthy, calloused.
Shoulders sunburned, elbows roughened. Wrists bruised, back tired, hip strained,
calves sore. But I threw a frisbee on the quad and danced and ate strawberries
and felt fresh sky beneath and around me. I remembered what it’s like to feel completely
alive.
Why I was born in the spring.
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