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Personal Note:
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Poem
I have a couple of ‘research for credit’ classes this semester and I’m spending a lot of time with my TAs. Teaching Assistants (grad students) are essentially approachable professors with longer office hours, faster response times and a willingness to spend a little time walking me through options, so I understand the material and don’t charge-off in some crazy direction. I have a flawless record of wasting time on the wrong things at the wrong times, so  I never feel silly or dumb asking questions.
AM I having fun yet? Yeah, I am.

A bell dings. Let the fighters enter the ring.
There’s a gathering of things, then we rush for the wings.
Students are bolting from classes, like riders out of rodeo shoots.
Focused faces, off to the races, phones appear from a hundred places.

Outside, a cool, brisk breeze moves paper-mâché clouds, across the blue-dome sky.
Squirrels freeze from their thieving, and watch this sudden, noisy invasion of their world.  
There’s a bee-like buzz of conversations, from ahead, behind and in doppler passing.
“Question six - was that right - what are you wearing to the thing tonight?”

My tummy growls for some lunch time relief - a plea for a snack - or coffee’s appeasement.
I glance at my watch, there’s no time. I leave the path for the grass;
I have an immediate class! Why are people so slow?
I get heinous looks - it’s grass people - kiss my a$s people.

I squeeze sideways in the crush to enter the Kline Biology Tower, atop science hill.
In the hallway I find Lisa, we share the next class. “Do you have a granola bar?” I ask.
“I’ve got two,” she brags, fishing one out, as we drop our bookbags.
As I moan with pleasure, she chuckles at the relief on my face.
The TA announces, ”You should have papers, pass ‘em, please.”
.
.
Songs for this:
Home by Luke Chiang
No Other Plans by Sunny Levine
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