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quietly walk away An hour after sunrise, I finished reading the final forty pages or so of the novel The Hours by Michael Cunningham. It was more depressing than Mrs. Dalloway. I don't mean to say that I didn't like it, but uplifting would not be an adjective that I would use to describe it. ... The last day of class was the textbook definition of anti-climatic. Not only was the pressure to care about the material missing, but the instructor ended class early. She had to make her way back to New York. More than likely I probably won't see any of the people from class ever again. No, I take that back. I might see some of them in fall, but I won't be seeing J Crew girl. The last that I saw of her was her lighting up a cigarette as she left the building. All of the illusion was gone. Jennifer, on the other hand, wanted to me to come to her graduation party, but I'll be on my way to Australia on the same day. The odds of us getting together over summer are better than anyone else that I spoke with in class. No promises were made, but like little kids we waved goodbye as I walked out the door. ... Some time ago my parents had suggested that I read In a Sunburned Country by Bill Bryson and that is exactly what I did this afternoon out on my deck. Sitting outside in the breeze was so much better than sitting inside and watching The Deer Hunter like I did yesteday. At last I had something light hearted if not positive to keep me busy. In a related Australian story I made contact with the Aussies that I met in Europe last summer. If all goes well I might be able to get a more personal view of the country than just the big cities. Some of the final details as to when and where we will meet still need to be worked out.
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