I am currently sitting in an uncomfortably hard wooden chair, the kind you would find at a dining table in the late seventies, on the second floor of the library. The carpet is pale blue shaded with the ding of countless students, coffee that shouldn't be here, and any number of other accidents. The table is nicked and maroon. I'm not sure which eighties interior designer came up with this color scheme. Among other students who glance up on occasion, Martha Berry is staring straight at me from her perch in a similar maroon chair on the wall directly ahead. Her pale blue dress mirrors the carpet in color and dusty shading. The orange power outlets directly to my left don't work. Why? It's Berry College and I'm sure that's enough.
I'm easily distracted here perhaps because I'm uncomfortable or there are too many people around or...
it's practically finals week once again and my mind is alert for any possible distraction from the numerous papers and novels that I've forced it to consume over the past 4 months. Twenty-Seven novels, short stories, and plays, to be exact, not counting handouts and various other readings given by professors. Just a short time, yet.
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