Et in Arcadia Ego

We have entered the lazy golden days that herald the end of spring semester, and the beginning to the long, lovely summer.

Of course, now that I’ve begun higher education, and my first tentative steps into the “real world”, the blissful empty days of summer tend to mean: find a job/internship, make arrangements for the next school year and beyond, and squeeze in a few adventures with friends when you can spare the time. This year is means a month in London, followed by five weeks working at camp before needing to pack to go back to Tech for my senior year. Down at Tech, I would be in the full thrall of the final days of classes, and preparing for exams. Technically, I’m doing that over here as well.

But, I am still in Switzerland, and the sun shines down on our little valley. And for a few hours, I can ignore the call of my essays and the 18 hours of travel that await me in a week as I finally return to the States.

I am surrounded by my fellow students, but we have all succumbed to the lethargy that sunshine brings, and so we all venture forth to the garden, and soak up the April UV-rays, enjoying the slight disconnection that being in a foreign country creates.

Which is why I spent five hours of my Friday, the day after I took two exams, and with several essays still to go, laying out on the lawn reading Camus’ “The Plague” and burning my back and shoulders to a crisp. And for those five hours of roasting and reading, never once did I think about the troubles and tasks that await me inside the villa, and within the next few weeks. All I could think was that there must be something wrong with stretching out in a tank top and short and reading something called “The Plague”.

I should clarify; I don’t find a problem with settling down for some serious tanning with works of what I am led to believe are “great” literature. That’s my usual summer schedule; the difficultly lies with the subject matter. In my family, my father is notorious for finding and reading books about the plague (and I do mean the bubonic type). This is usually a source of much amusement among the children, and has created an aversion to anything plague-oriented. And yet, I was drawn to a plague-book, albeit not one that also dealt with the medieval period. I suppose it’s simply a sign that I will eventually turn into my parents, but for now, I shall enjoy the sun and self-imposed ignorance of responsibilities.