On the train, I eat the loudest snacks. Carrots and rice crackers that come in a package that sounds like you’re walking on ice in sharp high heels when you open it. Somewhere between Bellows Falls and Montpelier, I realize that my ipod is missing. I panic for a moment, I search under seats and bother people, and then, suddenly, I get very calm and give up. Just like that.
At the top of the hill, it’s grey and slippery and humid, and the time passed between last winter and now feels slim as a bookmark. I put everything away, on the same shelves, think about the order of things, the way I like them to be. I don’t make my bed. I never make my bed here.
I resent this semester in advance, which is not a great place to begin. I resent it for being third, because after third is fourth, and after fourth, we all stand on a stage together and then this thing is over. In my mind, I’m always too far ahead, not in a melodramatic way, but in a way that you would understand if you met me when I was eleven, or seventeen, or twenty five, or just now.