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Periphery

a record of mundane things that have stuck in my mind, and what they may mean.

Thursday, January 29, 2004

Yesterday, a student said, "this isn't real."

It came at me so swiftly that the desk she sat on, and all the others, and the computers at the back of Rm 218, and the blue painted walls and the stale bulletin boards and snow falling outside seemed to fade for a few moments.

My internal compass, which had seemed to lose its magnetism all week, swished left and right for a moment, and then seemed to set straight where it belonged.