Purple Highlighters

Bob Seger is my current kick. I've run out of purple highlighters as well, which means tomorrow there's a trip into town to pick up some more, a nice excuse to stop by G's on my way through town. I feel like we don't see each other anymore, but that's just because we practically lived together during the break.

Today I started thinking about how fast these terms go by, and how soon I will be saying goodbye to these people. The thought of starting over again is somehow ridiculous to me, that once Oxford empties the city will no longer be mine. Do I really want to come back to a ghost town for my DPhil? Do I like this bizarre non-place enough to fill it again? Propagate the strange depths of its lanes and college-lined streets? What would this year have been without the hockey girls, and surely, without them, this place will be empty. These are not things to consider now, tired, with a pile of reading and things to finish. Just write the proposal so you can go to bed. What slips through my cracks when other things take priority?

And my fingers itch to text. Fidget through these twisted words and tense upon the keyboard, straining for the phone. Silence. Dammit hold your tongue. I never could tell myself what to do, but this time, this time I know what is best. I am in control here. Tomorrow is Thursday. First week halfway through. Third Term. Hockey finished. Off the gossip train, with nothing more to find.

Oxford has peaked, hit its zenith and now turns downwards, arcing through rising summer skies and the warm sunshine during my walk of un-shame this morning. And the zen of moving from city to city has worn thin around the edges, and his arm around my waist last night anchored me to the sidewalk, my feet carrying through familiar motion. Do I want him? Or what he means: some sense of stability in this whirlwind. The next week brings visitors from my past, from previous lives in other cities, their colour in my memories washed thin, the haze of time. And in six months Oxford will be just that, memories and words, the smell of kebab vans at night, the deafening chatter of ice rink nets at one thirty in the morning, the yellowed stone down every turning lane, a city of gates and forbidden doorways. Do I know this place? Not a chance. I fell into such a lovely rut that I can't bear to leave it. And perhaps I want to stay, but come December I will think better of it.

This place was empty when I arrived and look what it has become. Could I be so lucky on a second time around?

Stood alone on a mountain top,
Starin’ out at the great divide
I could go east, I could go west,
It was all up to me to decide
Just then I saw a young hawk flyin’
And my soul began to rise
And pretty soon
My heart was singin’

Roll, roll me away,
I’m gonna roll me away tonight
Gotta keep rollin, gotta keep ridin’,
Keep searchin’ till I find what’s right
And as the sunset faded
I spoke to the faintest first starlight
And I said next time
Next time
We’ll get it right

- Roll Me Away, Bob Seger