Today I have been teetering on high heels, leaving work early in order to sit through the public defence of a doctoral thesis, singing old folk songs and eating chocolate cake with friends who whispered furtively about the meaning of words like "epistemology". Like most of my friends there (the respondent not included) I had no idea what the word meant.
But I felt a great joy in being back in the academic atmosphere. Lecture halls have always appealed to me, ideal as they are to someone like me who likes to sit in the back of the room, back to the wall, and see and observe everything, including my fellow students. Doctoral theses are at best difficult to follow, sometimes incomprehensible if you are not familiar with the subject, but this one was actually interesting. I listened and learned a few things about the study of traditional songs ( the meaning of "epistemology" I have yet to learn ).
And I had my best friend at my side. The one whom I was used to having at my side in lecture halls when we were both students - exchanging meaningful glances and passing furtive notes with sarcastic comments about the lecturer's choice of tie, or suggestions about which cafeteria to grace with our presence at lunch. Sometimes whispering with our heads together, blushing when the lecturer gave us a warning look. Raising our eyebrows at the too-ambitous blonde in the front row who always had an intelligent answer to the professor's questions.
It made me almost wish to be back there, on the campus of my past. Taking notes in my bad handwriting, yawning in remembrance of a great night out with friends the evening before, distractedly glancing at a goodlooking guy on my left, dreaming about lunch. Dreaming about a glorious future.
I gave my friend a meaningful look today. She knew what I meant.
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