It's almost midnight. I'm in bed at Dick's House, trying to stay awake for the "Law & Order" verdict, but I keep slipping in and out of consciousness. My throat is hurting viciously, so the nurses are going to bring me a popsicle: blue raspberry, my favorite. I'm lying here thinking about stuff again, mostly because I'm too sick to do anything else.
In about three weeks, well, two by the time this is printed, I will be out of here. I'll be in Chicago doing a Tucker Fellowship, and I can't tell you how excited I am. I've been getting more and more psyched as the time of departure draws nearer, and the details become finalized. The day that Tucker told me they were giving me the grant is etched into my memory as one of those red-letter events. I knew it was really going to happen when my friend Noelle called and announced, "Get out the tofu cookbook I bought you. I found you a room in a house with three vegetarian artists. And did you still want to take boxing lessons?"
I definitely need a break from this place. Don't get me wrong -- I think Dartmouth is actually quite nice, even a little too nice at times. Sometimes I fear I'll become complacent, and I won't care that as I sit here waiting for my popsicle there are people sleeping in boxes and bus stations and scrounging through garbage cans attempting to find someone else's scraps to eat as dinner. That's why I need to go away next term. I need to stop talking and thinking about helping people and actually start doing it.
I also need to get away from certain aspects of Dartmouth. Sometimes I think if I had a dollar for every time someone told me the world doesn't need saving or that I can't make a difference, I'd have enough money to finance my education. See, people ask me what I want to do with my life quite often. I usually smile and say I want to change the world. For some reason, that seems to be the average Dartmouth student's cue to laugh or otherwise ridicule my statement. I just don't understand why people think it is anything less than completely deplorable to shoot down someone's life dream with three sentences of ignorant babble. So I usually go back to my room and listen to the Jewel song, "I'm Sensitive," with words that say, "It doesn't take a talent to be mean. Your words can crash things that are unseen. Please be careful with me, I'm sensitive, and I'd like to stay that way." Maybe I should have it tattooed across my forehead before I come back.
I'm also beginning to wonder if I'm losing myself to Dartmouth. Now I'm back at home feeling better, and my friend and I just went to Folk and bought dresses. I was thinking about how I've changed in the last few years. When I came to Dartmouth, I started dressing more conservatively and eating meat again but stopped smoking cloves and wearing chains around my neck. These thoughts slightly distressed me, so I went back to my room and listened to "Little Plastic Castle" by Ani Difranco repeatedly at top volume and danced around wearing my new dress. What happened to me? Did I try to sacrifice myself and who I am in order to attain some false sense of maturity? I hope not, but it's definitely something to think about.
I'm going to miss this place. If someone would have told me last term I was going to get (more than a little) weepy about leaving Hanover for three months, I would have laughed in their face. I'm not even graduating or anything like that. It seems strange that Dartmouth will go about its usual business next term, but I won't be here to partake of it. You see, I think I finally figured this place out sometime between the dark days of fall term and the beautiful (almost) spring of this week. I realized friendship is more important than obsessing over exams and that sometimes I just need to play the piano for hours at a time. As for my exams, they still get studied for, and my papers get written. That's the funny thing about work: it gets done independently of the amount of time spent stressing about it.
I think I'm finally done writing this column. It's taken me forever, and I think I have been in tears on seven separate occasions. I'm trying to think of some poignant parting thoughts, but it's difficult. I'll give it my best shot. To my 'shmen: you are forbidden to do anything left and right next term. To my friends: thanks for being the people you are. What can I say, except that I love y'all more than triple chocolate brownies, and I'll miss you lots. To the Dartmouth student population: next time someone says something obnoxious to you, do what I do. Look the person right in the eye and quote some Ani Difranco (with attitude): "this is who I am, what I do and what I say. If you like it, let it be, and if you don't, please do the same." Good-bye Dartmouth, I'll see you later.
