What have I been doing?

Where have I been since the last time?

Rifling through papers on my desk, listening to the shift in the room when I answered an unknown question. Reflecting on the nature of vehicles and physics at 6:45 in the morning. Attempting cross country skiing, and finding the balance in it.

The writing has continued at a glacial pace, with work leaning towards the autobiographical. So much navel-staring and contemplation. Waiting for the snap of spring, waiting out the last of the rains in May and early June, until I hit that one day of June 16, when the school doors swing open, and Alice Cooper's "School's out for summer" can be heard in every Camaro peeling out of the parking lot.

Thinking back a bit, to back when I was the age of some of my students when I try to figure out why certain students won't follow through. They get so close, 75% of the way through and then fade out, disappearing on the last day of class, never to be seen again.

Driftless in the open sea, tormented by some unknown faction, parental, animal or mineral.

Light in the morning on the way into work, feeling lighter, breathing easier.

Coming home to a home, and not an under-furnished apartment.

Shaving and noticing the grey-white silvery hairs march onward, gaining new ground each day, garrisons multiplying and dividing.

Watching older friends change patterns, set fire to objects, throw out shirts eaten away by battery acid.

At work, the beginning of the last term, the last run around the track before we let out a colossal collective sigh, and turn towards the sun, climbing higher up the hills on our bicycles, rushing down and tasting the dewey summer air, like we never left high school.