This week has be a weird one. Two of my friends whom I have not spoken to in at least five years decided to strike up conversation again. Although I have so many years of events to catch up on, it's almost as if there's nothing to say as the conversation has definately lagged. I guess my life is really not that interesting. Apart from schoolwork, majors and getting trashed by Notre Dame last Saturday at the game, I have nothing to talk about. This is pretty sad. One my friends is married -- a fact that is only just starting to sink in. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to be disturbed or resigned to inevitable progress that aging has. Where is Peter Pan when you need him?
However, these conversations have been good for indulging in memories of my past. Of high school years and all those half-forgotten friends and aquaintences, faces that I probably won't forget but didn't think I'd ever see again. Of a summer spent at Harvard, enjoying Cambridge and roommates that became best friends in the space of 10 weeks. And sadly, of promises to write stacked like so many other misshelved books -- filed under dropped obligations as opposed to missed opportunities.
Sigh.
--C.