Sometimes I am a bad person. My window looks out onto the Webster driveway so I see people entering and leaving the building and the past few mornings I have spent my time sitting at my window using the computer and watching people slip and slide and alllllmost but not quite fall. It is hilarious. I feel like this superior being just for being up here on the third floor. The omniscient third-person narrator.
The other night I was walking up the hill from the library and I saw a rabbit hopping around the pavement. It hopped on over to the Student Union, slowly feeling around its surroundings and eventually standing up on its hind legs to nibble at the remnants of bushes around the building. I watched it for a good ten minutes while other people walked right past, not knowing a thing about what was going on. It was neat knowing this secret thing that no one else noticed.
Today Dave and I went out in the snow to brush off our cars. We kissed in the cold as the flakes fell in our faces and our glasses fogged up.
Last night at Cherish the Ladies they recited part II of Patrick Kavanagh's poem "A Childhood Christmas" which we had read recently in class so I recognized it immediately. I wasn't sure which poet since we've also read McNeice, Longley, and Murray.
"I nicked six nicks in the door-post
With my penknife's big blade -
There was a little one for cutting tobacco.
And I was six Christmases of age.
My father played the melodeon,
My mother milked the cows,
And I had a prayer like a white rose pinned
On the Virgin Mary's blouse."
Joni is sleeping over tonight because of the snow. We are going to snuggle in my tiny dorm bed like little girls, our feet crammed between the baseboard and mattress, arms and legs misplaced.