wide stone path leading into shady forested area, two small figures can be seen in the distance.
Here in this one-bedroom Bloomington Indiana apartment, the Spring 2020 semester is over. Grades have been submitted and approved. Final papers uploaded to their respective Canvas submission pages. Any work I do from here on out will be conducted under the label “Summer 2020.” I sit on the same spot
In the White House, a white man in arguably the most powerful position in the world crosses out the word “corona” and writes, in bold black letters, “Chinese.” In a rail station bathroom, a man is spit on and told he should die because he has the “Chinese virus.” The
Dear Faculty Member, We are not okay. We are the graduate students who don’t seem to have it too bad, who have places to stay, food on the table, and are still able to pay rent. Our basic needs are met, and we are quick to acknowledge this privilege. But
I wake up groggy, lift my head to decipher the red glowing letters across the room. 7:37 am. I roll over a few times, but I am awake, internal alarm clock reliably sounding off in this same 30-minute interval most days. Compared to the strict 6:00 am schedule I’ve been
In my last post, I wrote about exhaustion and its many forms. But it would be impossible for me to spend so much time thinking about exhaustion without also reflecting on the reverse: rest and recovery. Exhaustion was ever-present and inescapable; rest eluded me. Rest and, perhaps more importantly, recovery
At the end of last semester, I stopped telling people I was “good.” Instead, when they asked, “how are you?” my answer went from “tired” to “so tired” to “exhausted.” I settled on exhausted for the rest of the semester; it sounded simple and relatable, especially in the week before