The University Experience

Here I am.  Well, here I was.  You can sort of make out my backpack in the front row on the far left.

You can also make out the “head” spots along the back wall of this classroom.  Firenze has it’s flood markers all over the city.  This school has “head” spots to mark when students – not in the least interested in the topic being taught – leave their marks.

I sit in the front row.  I like sitting in the front row because it keeps me focused and engaged.  I don’t have hands and arms and shoulders and hair in my line of sight.  Just my notes and my professors.  I like it this way.

This particular classroom fills up quickly.  There are 65 students in this class. Those wishing to add are still attending and putting their names on a sheet of paper.  The hope rests on the ability of the professor to bore enough students.  If and when this happens the student will then drop the course and by dropping the course they have made a desk available for the students that want to be in this class or need to be in this class.




I’m the old guy that sits in front.  I’m sure that’s what the kids behind me say/think.  It doesn’t matter.  Here is a quick sampling of the reminders:

“Who is Darth Vader?”

“How old are you?”


I am also older than 3 of my professors.  (If anyone is keeping track I have 6 professors).

I have to fight the urge of raising my hand everytime the professors ask a question.  It felts like I was a contestant on a game-show.  First to raise their hand and answer correctly wins $25.   I had to stop.

It is also weird and strange.  The information being presented, for the most part, is or should be NEW information.  The information being passed along is anything but new, to me.  I almost feel as though I lived when Pythagoras was scheming or when Magellan was killed before actually circumnavigating the earth.

I feel like a contemporary of those being discussed.  That feeling strikes when you hear someone, from the back of the room, exclaim that they are having their 18th birthday this Saturday and that everyone is invited.

Pfft.  I can’t make it to that party.

I’ve got homework.

July 14th? Really?

It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything here.

The place is dusty.  Looks a little sad.  Needs some freshening up.

I’ll poke around.  I see a bunch of spam on the floor in that corner.

I leave for a bit and suddenly there’s spam?  Anyone else feel the same?

Be back in a few minutes.

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The Elbow

I have not written in a few days.

I hurts to type.  These words you read now have taken some time to be typed and copied and pasted and uploaded.

I have the worst elbow pain ever.  I haven’t been able to sleep for longer than a a handful of hours in almost a week.

The pain wakes me up and keeps me.  I can’t find a comfortable position to sleep in.

I have bought a body pillow.

I have sandwiched myself between the body pillow and other pillows.  The pain still wakes me up.

The other night I thought I would sleep on the couch.  We have the type of couch that has a built-in chaise side.  Useless.  Well, not totally useless.  I woke up with a new pain in my shoulder/neck.


I hope to find relief soon.

I hope to be able to write soon.  I hope to be able to work soon.


The Light from Verona

The rain had stopped falling.  The thunder had stopped.

A few hours before the performance the sky opened up and the moon appeared.  The moon lit the inside of the arena.

Had it not been for the opera the moon would have had center stage.  Just shy of a full moon. It  was all she needed.

She looked up at the moon.  She thought of me.

I read her texts.  Then reread them.


It is now time for me to sleep.

The French opera set in Spain and performed in Italy had left her exhausted.  Her lasts words were that she saw the moon.

“I thought of you.”

We have clouds tonight.  Not many.  Enough.

Enough to prevent the moon from being seen.  I check every few minutes.  I pull the kitchen curtains up.



I have to go to bed.  Now.

She thought of me.  She looked up at the moon and thought of me.

I need to see that moon.  Her moon.  The Light from Verona.

Putting my clothes in the dryer.  I look outside.  I see a little reflection on the car’s window.

“I thought of you.”

I run outside.

I look up.

The clouds have parted.


I think of her.



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