I cried on my way home from work today... three of our student assistants graduate this weekend and, I'm a sap. I just love them so aching much. It would have been impossible not to get attached to this batch.
The one is a free-spirited wild poet who got a big tattoo of a jellyfish on her arm last semester, 'because jellyfish are fucking cool!' She just always made me smile, because of how she looked and the things she said and her facebook status updates. I fully support her brand of crazy. I hope she writes novels and novels about her strange adventures. You can just tell by her laugh that she's got a whole life of them ahead.
Another is a sweet sylph of a girl, quiet and agreeable and the. most. fashionable. person. I. have. ever. met. It is so strangely lovely to have a timid girl who dresses like a fashion model working with you. In all her time in the office--and she came to work with us four years ago, as a freshman--she never NOT thanked me for giving her work to do. She always had it wrong. I should have been thanking her. Ah, I am hoping beyond hope that she's going to take flight.
And the third, damn. He's the one who actually started working in the office the same fall I did, and six years later is finally graduating. After he got over his freshman shyness, he has done nothing but harass me, nonstop, for all of these six years. I can't tell you how much I love him. He's a big bear of a boy, chock full of funny mannerisms and bad aim and horrrible horrrrible grammar, in the funniest way. There is no one he reminds me of. He is a perfect gentleman and a brown-noser and a troublemaker. He speaks in a southern drawl that is thick and sweet and sometimes he gets really, really sad and there's nothing I can do to help. He's gone through some horrible things in his lifetime, and even in the past six years. Sometimes he breaks my heart a little or a lot. I always want to hug him. He's made the office into a battleground for years and I am so grateful, because it gives me an excuse to fight back. He is a walking, talking inside joke, and a contradiction, and a punching bag, and I will miss him so, so, so much.
So I cried in the car, because I'm not ready to not have them nearby to look at and listen to and abuse. Sometimes in the past few months I wondered if maybe the virus from hell would steal intangible things from me, like my heart and my delight, and my sentimentality. It's not even a little true.
The one is a free-spirited wild poet who got a big tattoo of a jellyfish on her arm last semester, 'because jellyfish are fucking cool!' She just always made me smile, because of how she looked and the things she said and her facebook status updates. I fully support her brand of crazy. I hope she writes novels and novels about her strange adventures. You can just tell by her laugh that she's got a whole life of them ahead.
Another is a sweet sylph of a girl, quiet and agreeable and the. most. fashionable. person. I. have. ever. met. It is so strangely lovely to have a timid girl who dresses like a fashion model working with you. In all her time in the office--and she came to work with us four years ago, as a freshman--she never NOT thanked me for giving her work to do. She always had it wrong. I should have been thanking her. Ah, I am hoping beyond hope that she's going to take flight.
And the third, damn. He's the one who actually started working in the office the same fall I did, and six years later is finally graduating. After he got over his freshman shyness, he has done nothing but harass me, nonstop, for all of these six years. I can't tell you how much I love him. He's a big bear of a boy, chock full of funny mannerisms and bad aim and horrrible horrrrible grammar, in the funniest way. There is no one he reminds me of. He is a perfect gentleman and a brown-noser and a troublemaker. He speaks in a southern drawl that is thick and sweet and sometimes he gets really, really sad and there's nothing I can do to help. He's gone through some horrible things in his lifetime, and even in the past six years. Sometimes he breaks my heart a little or a lot. I always want to hug him. He's made the office into a battleground for years and I am so grateful, because it gives me an excuse to fight back. He is a walking, talking inside joke, and a contradiction, and a punching bag, and I will miss him so, so, so much.
So I cried in the car, because I'm not ready to not have them nearby to look at and listen to and abuse. Sometimes in the past few months I wondered if maybe the virus from hell would steal intangible things from me, like my heart and my delight, and my sentimentality. It's not even a little true.
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