More than the end of the quarter, it’s the end of exams. I worked the last late-late shift tonight, and the room was almost empty; about 10 when we closed at 2am, and last night it was more like 30. When I went to punch out I found myself passing through a room flooded with loaded booktrucks:
Usually there are only about five back here, and not nearly as motley a collection as these are. My contacts in Circ tell me that last night they ran out of trucks and had to just leave some books stacked up in bins. With courses and papers and theses finished, suddenly all those little hoards of books start to come home. Looking at these, I can imagine the stacks in carrels and offices and apartments; there are few things more evocative of the workings of a human mind than a collection of books. And now they all find their way back up to their places in the towers to wait for their next big break.
Very sentimental; so be it. It’s the end of the year, the start of the summer, the cusp of senior year and everything that comes after. It’s big. And while I’m sure it’s going to be wonderful and exciting, and I’m sure I’ll be able to handle all the concerns that come up, I still have to bring those books back, so to speak. I have to bring those books back, the ones that have been occupying large quantities of space, that have answered my questions and kept me company and infuriated me, and they have to go back where I might not be able to find them again. And if I do, it will be in a completely different context, since the previous project will be done.
Enough with the lame book metaphors. It’s nearly four and my stuff is emphatically not ready for checking out at 10am.