During my art history course Wednesday morning, I hit a writing frenzy. I grabbed my journal and let my pen take over. I tried to stop and listen to the conversation on the Japanese Fluxus movement, but I couldn't. My mind was rushing and I needed the release.
This is what I wrote...
This entire semester my shoulders have been rolling forward. I have made many attempts at rolling them back-- opening myself up-- but without success. I have been sheltering myself, "don't get too involved." The ephemerality of this experience has not made me cherish every moment, but instead distance myself from every moment. "This is not real." "This is not my home." "This doesn't matter." These ideas have framed my existence.
"I am not really here" is not a statement, but a state of mind, a state of being. This has been my existence this semester. I haven't felt entirely myself because I haven't been entirely here. I haven't been present, because I needed to be sheltered. My shoulders allowed me to be self-preserving, self-sufficient, and self-aware. I haven't been so open to others but I have been incredibly self-reflective.
My posture is a signifier, a metaphor, an omen, a teacher. It carries my history and shows me my future, while always present to real time.

On Wednesday night, for the first time, I found myself sad to be leaving...