Tuesday's child.

I walked to my multicultural American literature class at two, only to find a sign on the door proclaiming class was not meeting today. As the university library is less than a stones throw away from Root Hall I decided to use my hour I would typically be in class to read here.

The lower level of the Cunningham Memorial Library is an idiosyncratic mix of reference and children's library. Old wooden tables with old wooden chairs flank the entrance. Further in, small plastic tables reminiscent of a kindergarten classroom are accented by powder blue chairs with metal legs and rubber feet. There are books of every size and color on display. Some look dull and scholarly, others educational, in an elementary school kind of way; some are sleek and cool, others seemingly unworthy of a second glance. There are many students here--studying, working at various endeavors. I notice: The bean bag chairs are ignored; there is a preference for the wooden tables, and for sitting in front of computer screens. College students shun the comforts considered childish, at least publicly. But not I. I am stationed at one of the kindergarten tables, and I am unashamed. It feels nice, assuring even, to sit here, now. It's as if nothing else is of importance other than this table and myself, this is my personal classroom and the burdens of life must remain outside the lower level doors.

I finished our book "The Bluest Eye", even though it isn't assigned to be finished until next week. Miraculously, inexorably , I feel like a student again after closing that novel.
I haven't felt like a student in so long. I account this to my complete unwillingness, and therefore inability to LEARN. Young men are often cursed with an arrogance that causes them to believe they know everything, or rather that anything worth knowing is self-derived. Therefore, when confronted with new knowledge, they scoff and give no credit where credit is due. I am guilty of this. However, I DID learn something from Toni Morrison's debut novel. Through her words, I was able to glimpse an element of humanity for which there are no words. I'm hungry now; I am thirsty for more knowledge. I want more of what I have already received. I do not feel content or satiated. I am pleasantly empty, and happily starved. I aim to devour, now.