I thought I would have something meaningful to say right now. This event deserves one of my rambling replay of moments, a nostalgic analysis, a shout out to those who crafted the last ten years at Northwestern into a meaningful experience. This isn't a small thing for me- leaving, change. People asks me how it feels, "is it weird"? "I guess, yes, it is. No, well, maybe, it's fine". I can't seem to quite articulate the swirly interplay of a timeline in my mind of places and faces appearing and reappearing and stretching into the past, into my very early twenties when I walked into the Allen Center and a little old British lady welcomed me for my interview and offered me a glass of water. I hover over these scenes for a minute or two and move on to the next, trying to maybe come to some sort of poetic conclusion. And, meanwhile the excitement and uncertainty about a new adventure moves from background to foreground.

One windy late summer afternoon (which now seems like a long time ago) I sat in the middle of an open space on campus near the hepworth statue . I sat there for a while watching and listening as the wind whipped around the willow trees. The movement reminded me of a lion's mane. It was powerful and inspiring. And made me hope that somehow the power of the wind through weeping willows could stir the same kind of motion in my life. (Cue Emily rolling her eyes as I wax poetic).

From my rock you can see lots of other rocks with little painted sayings on them. Love poems or this person plus that person equals true love, or the same equation but crossed out after the painter realizes that true love didn't quite last for forever. There are marriage proposals and meaningful quotes, song lyrics, NU seniors marking their place in time and space with declarations of their awesomeness, all of the little expressions of emotion, anger, hilarity, wisdom that someone somewhere wanted to pass on to the public.

My little rock is in the perfect location. I have to take off my shoes to climb to it, it's hidden away from the biking path, you can't hear or see anyone else but the Chicago skyline is in the distance and I can hear the waves crashing on the little rock below mine. And when the summer sun is smiling down I look out at Lake Michigan and just dwell in that little patch of happiness for however many minutes I can squeeze into the work day.

Woke up to the smell of coffee courtesy of Pat this morning, read a little Oswald Chambers. Showered, dressed in my favorite brown tights and gray wool skirt (borderline winter/spring outfit) and put on my war paint leisurely, drove to work with the sun shining, sipped my hot coffee in my cute lime green polka-dot ceramic mug at each stop light, smoked a clove cigarette and listened to my latest Peter Madler mix which is rocking my morning drive to Animal Collective, Friendly Fires, Camera Obscura, Animal Kingdom, Manchester Orchestra, Girls, Sonic Youth, Radiohead, Grizzly Bear, Bowerbirds, Polvo, Built to Spill, The XX, Echo & the Bunnymen, The Cribs, Black Joe Lewis, and Martin Zellar.

Over lunch Ashley and I walked over to the secret garden around Deering Library where spring is taking over and Ashley said the little drainage tunnels around the walls looked like dwarf doors. Thought about Emily sitting begrudgingly in a courtroom while we strolled around campus.

A couple years ago I was taking a design class with Lina. We had to choose a sculpture on campus and make a miniature version of it. I chose this one. It's called Bryher. I just always thought it was pretty. My miniature sculpture was not a great success, however I spent hours on it, molding the red clay into something approximating the original masterpiece, smooshing my fingers and nails into the clay to make the hammered look, twisting the wires and figuring out where to place them and painting it with a variety of metallic paints-- all in an effort not to offend the original artist.  I kept it on my bookcase for a short time, though goofy looking, I had made it with my hands and I always have a connection with things I make with my hands. It was imperfect, but it was mine. And then one day it fell and broke and I threw it away. Oh well. Things we make break and you just move on with your life and make something else.