about December 6th, and 7th.
I missed a day, I shall not miss two. Not yet, anyway. But it’s late, and I have to get up early, so.
My commute to work takes me through the campus of George Washington University. There are times when my commute coincides with what must be the time in between classes, and so there are days when I have to sit at a four-way stop for ages, because they do that thing where as soon as one student clears the crosswalk another one enters it, and it’s not like I’m in that big of a hurry to get to work, so I sit there, and wait, and watch them.
I feel very old at these crosswalks. They’re so young and determined and uniquely beautiful that it can make my heart ache. That’s the part that makes me feel old. Not the age difference, not really, not the math of it, but the sheer potential they possess that the person waiting for them to cross the street can never, ever get back.
It’s a lot of existential crisising first thing in the morning. I don’t really like it.