When will we know all the things we've learned?
I wish I could remember it all.
I spend every Monday in the city now. I have a Yeats poetry class in the morning, which is better than you could imagine it would be. It's filled with older people, and I get along so well with older people. Pat is a woman who's been to Ireland too many times to count. We stand in the hall and talk during our bathroom break. The teacher walks by and grabs my arm, telling us that she always likes the hall-lingerers the best because they are always the most interesting.
Then I have a break, where I'm prone to wander around the Art Institute with Pappy, or find new places to eat and sunny places to sit.
Then it's my creative writing class at night. It's only successful, educated, young folks, which is the worst. The first day, I walked back and forth in front of the door several times, then walked back downstairs to stall/verify that I was indeed in that classroom. I tried to pretend I was a different person, a confident person, and kept giving myself pep talks. Eventually I made my way in and it's not been too terrible. Only mildly terrible.
I've also inadvertently begun working again. I was supposed to just go in for a few training shifts but now it appears I'm on the schedule every week - like a real job or something. I already miss early retirement. Long, lazy mornings working my way through multiple cups of coffee, stacks of books or pages of writing. I miss the walks and bike rides. I miss cooking all of my meals. Volunteering at the retirement home.
Now it's rushing to and fro, eating old nutella croissants and drinking lukewarm coffee.
[Ok. I suppose it could be worse. Because an old nutella croissant is still a nutella croissant.]
Oh, these summer days are flying by so fast.
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