Hidden in the Cracks of my Mind

             Focus evades me.  It slips away like the smallest rocks in a sieve, unable to be caught by square holes.  Here in the Library, I sit with my affects surrounding me—an open Linguistics book, study sheets, an empty iced coffee and a marked-up page of dialogue.  The test that awaits tomorrow will not move; will not come closer nor go further away. Yet even the assuredness that I will exam tomorrow, no sense of urgency presents itself.  Instead my mind wanders to the table at ten-o’clock, the one where he and I sat before his accident over Spring Break.  The woman a floor below me, whom I can see through clear glass panels, wears a teal lace headband which coordinates nicely with her blouse.  My mind wanders to a poem I need write before Tuesday, the focused nature of the woman across from me.  She has not looked up from her computer in the hour I have been here. Her black wire-framed glasses and pursed lips suggest focus; intention anyway.  It feels good to write again.  The most I have done recently are assignments for my Creative Writing class, which has proven difficult, because how does one assign creativity?  Certainly everything I write has glimmers of uniqueness, of the creation of something new; perhaps just to varying extents.  The hum of voices surrounds me; the loud whistle of steam from the espresso bar in the Library, and the incessant clicking and clacking of keys creates its own sort of harmony.  The harmony of minds, applied. Of those who wish to be something greater.

            College is talked up to be grander then it is.  At least, at many moments it feels that way.  A disagreement with a professor, dealing with frustrating University policies, or the inadequacy of many faculty to meet the needs of their students, all detracts from the grandeur and novelty originally experienced.  And then there are these moments, when not everything is line, but everything is in place.  When work awaits but it can stay there, waiting. When I consciously break the barrier of my mind inside my head and look out.  There is hope. And it's everywhere. It does not beckon, nor call attention to itself.  It wears no crown of jewels nor demands recognition for its existence.  But if you call, it will answer; unmistakably.