Eight weeks at home went by fast. I enjoyed cooking and baking, reading (I’m on my ninth book of 2021), and watching TV—first Little Fires Everywhere, then La casa de papel / Money Heist, which I watched on my own with Spanish subtitles and then with my mom with English subtitles. I ran more miles in January than I had in any month since July. I worked on some creative writing, applied to a handful of internships, and knit myself a hat (my first non-scarf project). It snowed a few times, and once I thought to listen to podcasts while snowthrowing the driveway, doing so wasn’t too much of a chore.
Accidentally twinning with the Science Center in my handknit hat
College move-in is usually rushed. My first semester, I arrived at 8 a.m. to begin setting up my room. But I had to run to the Health Center to go over all my forms, and orientation began right away. I didn’t spend much time in my room, and in my few moments of solitude, I felt like I was missing out on fun.
When I got here on Wednesday, however, I had nowhere to be for four days. I got my covid test and went straight to my room. I put my clothes in the dresser and snacks on the bookshelf, and it was still mid-afternoon. With nothing better to do, I hung up my longest tapestry, which I didn’t bother with in the fall since I didn’t know how long we’d last on campus. I switched my stuff to a different desk, one with a flatter bar for resting my feet and without the afternoon sunshine glare.
Unlike a normal move-in, this one offered me plenty of time. I spent my quarantine days doing a bit of work, a ton of reading (upwards of three hours a day—I’m reading a 650-page book in Spanish and I knew I’d never finish if I didn’t make tons of progress), calling friends over meals, and riding my bike on the trainer (perks of living 20 minutes away, I know).
I got my second negative test this morning, so I’m free! And yet, here I am at my desk in my dorm room, writing this blog post and waiting to meet a friend over Zoom.