It is raining as I write this. I’m thinking of my first post here this semester and how much time has gone by and how time hasn’t really gone anywhere. As I read all these arguments left by these dead authors I feel they have lived: That they ate and slept, felt happiness and sadness, argued and fought, had sex and parties (even with Dickinson, one cannot be so certain). They knew childhood and some knew old age and what they have in common is not only that they left their thoughts and ideas in prose, poetry, and art to us. But that they cease to breathe.

When I expire will it be this that remains? My blog and such? Do I have anything that would stand in my stead and keep me “alive”? Of course not. But one can’t really live like that, can one? Or better yet should one live today with the sole aim of preparing materials for tomorrow to remember them by? In that time is just a moment, nothing really matters; nothing is worth taking so seriously, is there? The rain ought to be felt, one ought to be able to run out naked into the rain and twirl and twirl and twirl because in time the body would come to know the wrinkles, lose its strength and the ability to twirl, get pneumonia at the thought of a spring rain, and eventually become food for the worms.

What am I saying? Well I am wondering what grade I would give myself on my dying bed. An A for going above and beyond to establish my immortality, or an A for daring to run naked into the rain not caring about what those who come––when I am all ivory, skinny as heck, and under six feet––would think or remember me by.

Well these thoughts are a bit heavy but they came to me through writing my papers so they are valid for my grad school entries. Have a wonderful Thursday. And if you’re not, all you need is Miles Davis’ “So What.” It’s like a ticket to a wonderful world. And if you need some drama, Jump onto your bed and sing with Queen to Bohemian Rhapsody! You’re alright mate so be alright. 

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Jane Odartey