to shovel ravioli into my mouth.
“You’re not going to get a bowl?” Daniel asks.
“I had a bowl,” I say. “Someone broke it. They gave me a pack of cigarettes in exchange.”
“You’d better be careful,” he says. “I might start to worry about you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re not worried about me now?”
“No need, now that I’m here,” he says, but he’s grinning as he says it and I know he’s teasing me.
“Great. You can go take my exams, then.”
“I’m on sabbatical. I can’t do anything that resembles schoolwork. It’s a rule.”
“What are you going to do while I study?”
“Read a book.” He holds up a paperback. It’s Moby Dick.
“Seriously?” I say. “That’s not schoolwork? You’re reading that for pleasure?”
“It’s hilarious,” he says. “Trust me. If you’re lucky I’ll read you some good lines while you study. Which you should be doing right now.”
“Let me finish my breakfast!”
“Finish while you study,” he tells me. “Brain food.” He glances at my ravioli. “In a manner of speaking.”
I sigh and show him to the study table.
An hour later I am sitting in the lounge, my hands fisted in my hair. All my books and papers and notes are spread around me, and I am starting to panic. I’ve been studying for an hour, and the despair is starting to set in.
“Everything okay?”
I glance up. Daniel is lying on the couch at the other end of the room, reading his book. He doesn’t even seem to be looking at me, though he has laughed out loud once or twice.
“How can you tell I’m flipping out?” I ask.
“You’re whimpering under your breath,” he says.
Whimpering. How attractive.
“You are extremely worried,” he continues.
“Really?” I can’t help but snap at him. “It’s just life or death.”
“I don’t think it’s that dramatic,” he says.
I say nothing. To me, it is.
He tries another tack. “You are just borrowing trouble from the future if you psyche yourself out about it now. Relax.”
“I don’t get that,” I say. “How can people say that? Of course I’m borrowing trouble from the future. The past affects the present. The present affects the future. Whatever happens now will be in the past and in the future I’ll be like, ‘shit, if only I’d whipped myself a little harder I wouldn’t be giving hand jobs for crack, thanks a lot, past-me.’“
Daniel just shakes his head, and I can tell he thinks there’s no use arguing with me. But I want to argue. It’s way better than studying, and far less terrifying.
“I don’t know how I’m going to do this.” I flip my notes over, searching through them, but I’ve always been unorganized. Everything is flyaway, disordered. I have only the vaguest ideas what to study for, and I have to write ten pages for at least one class. I’m doomed.
“Just take it one class at a time,” he tells me. “Look at the notes you have, recopy them by hand, and then move on.”
“That would be good advice if I didn’t spend half my time in class drawing little comic strips in the margins.”
That gets him to look up from his book. “What kind of comic strips?”
I hold up my notes for one of my gen ed classes, a class on enlightenment and post-enlightenment philosophy. “Like this one about Nietzsche,” I say. “I know in class that day the lecture was something about slave mentality and the will to power or someshit, but all these little sheep are saying in their speech bubbles is ‘Fuck eagles!’ and ‘Let’s subvert enlightenment thought!’“
Daniel grins. “You know,” he says, “that’s a very good summary of the Genealogy of Morals.”
“You’ve read it?”
He nods. “Don’t worry. Just study.”
“I don’t want to study. I want to go poke around in haunted hospitals again,” I tell him.
He lowers his book to his chest and tilts his head. “You do?”
I look back down at my notes. “Yeah,” I say. “I... I had a dream about it
“You’re not going to get a bowl?” Daniel asks.
“I had a bowl,” I say. “Someone broke it. They gave me a pack of cigarettes in exchange.”
“You’d better be careful,” he says. “I might start to worry about you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re not worried about me now?”
“No need, now that I’m here,” he says, but he’s grinning as he says it and I know he’s teasing me.
“Great. You can go take my exams, then.”
“I’m on sabbatical. I can’t do anything that resembles schoolwork. It’s a rule.”
“What are you going to do while I study?”
“Read a book.” He holds up a paperback. It’s Moby Dick.
“Seriously?” I say. “That’s not schoolwork? You’re reading that for pleasure?”
“It’s hilarious,” he says. “Trust me. If you’re lucky I’ll read you some good lines while you study. Which you should be doing right now.”
“Let me finish my breakfast!”
“Finish while you study,” he tells me. “Brain food.” He glances at my ravioli. “In a manner of speaking.”
I sigh and show him to the study table.
An hour later I am sitting in the lounge, my hands fisted in my hair. All my books and papers and notes are spread around me, and I am starting to panic. I’ve been studying for an hour, and the despair is starting to set in.
“Everything okay?”
I glance up. Daniel is lying on the couch at the other end of the room, reading his book. He doesn’t even seem to be looking at me, though he has laughed out loud once or twice.
“How can you tell I’m flipping out?” I ask.
“You’re whimpering under your breath,” he says.
Whimpering. How attractive.
“You are extremely worried,” he continues.
“Really?” I can’t help but snap at him. “It’s just life or death.”
“I don’t think it’s that dramatic,” he says.
I say nothing. To me, it is.
He tries another tack. “You are just borrowing trouble from the future if you psyche yourself out about it now. Relax.”
“I don’t get that,” I say. “How can people say that? Of course I’m borrowing trouble from the future. The past affects the present. The present affects the future. Whatever happens now will be in the past and in the future I’ll be like, ‘shit, if only I’d whipped myself a little harder I wouldn’t be giving hand jobs for crack, thanks a lot, past-me.’“
Daniel just shakes his head, and I can tell he thinks there’s no use arguing with me. But I want to argue. It’s way better than studying, and far less terrifying.
“I don’t know how I’m going to do this.” I flip my notes over, searching through them, but I’ve always been unorganized. Everything is flyaway, disordered. I have only the vaguest ideas what to study for, and I have to write ten pages for at least one class. I’m doomed.
“Just take it one class at a time,” he tells me. “Look at the notes you have, recopy them by hand, and then move on.”
“That would be good advice if I didn’t spend half my time in class drawing little comic strips in the margins.”
That gets him to look up from his book. “What kind of comic strips?”
I hold up my notes for one of my gen ed classes, a class on enlightenment and post-enlightenment philosophy. “Like this one about Nietzsche,” I say. “I know in class that day the lecture was something about slave mentality and the will to power or someshit, but all these little sheep are saying in their speech bubbles is ‘Fuck eagles!’ and ‘Let’s subvert enlightenment thought!’“
Daniel grins. “You know,” he says, “that’s a very good summary of the Genealogy of Morals.”
“You’ve read it?”
He nods. “Don’t worry. Just study.”
“I don’t want to study. I want to go poke around in haunted hospitals again,” I tell him.
He lowers his book to his chest and tilts his head. “You do?”
I look back down at my notes. “Yeah,” I say. “I... I had a dream about it
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