The Senior Struggle: Spring Break Broke

My imaginary spring break. | Photo by Kelly Felsberg
My imaginary spring break in Bath. | Photo by Kelly Felsberg

It is the first day of spring break. A plane takes off to some distant island where the weather is a bit balmier, and waves graze pasty ankles of beach goers eager for vitamin D. The plane lands. Layers are shed; cabs are hailed. Stress has evaporated along with all forms of precipitation. Sunshine commands the weather forecast for the next nine days of blissful diversions from the struggles of the undergrad.

An alarm sounds. This vacation is not my reality. Instead, shovels scrape concrete and snowblowers revel in a fresh layer of pallid snow. A profound string of expletives runs through my head. The conversation I have with my roommate parallels the “Really?!” with Seth and Amy segment from SNL. I blame the city for dumping more snow after an already intolerable winter. (Really, Boston? Really?) I regret not caring to make more formidable spring break plans as I wade through fresh snow to my only class of the day. A Death Cab for Cutie song streams continuously, the only appropriate score for such a solemn start to break. I later board the Bolt Bus to go home for the weekend, my only legitimate spring break plan.

I know that the aforementioned scene is a melodrama. Going home really isn’t so bad — I was greeted with well-balanced dinner (more than appreciated after the mid-term diet), free laundry, and a St. Patrick’s Day Parade. I returned to Boston on Monday with a full stomach and slight hangover. I was content.

Once back at Mugar for work, a strange sensation forced me back into that surrealist melodrama once again. Fellow stranded individuals sit frozen at computers on the first floor, carelessly browsing Facebook since there are so many monitors to go around. Employees walk the stacks lethargically. Everything has slowed down drastically to a trance-like state. I might as well be part of scene on Louie. 

It’s certainly calm here, but at the same time it’s honestly too quiet. I could easily grab a table at the Warren Starbucks to read Northanger Abbey, and when I do sit down, I find that I finally enjoy Jane Austen, a fact which only adds to this surrealist state of existence. The countless pages of dances attended by the protagonist at one point would have irritated me. I now find them charming and delightful, especially when it all takes place in Bath, a location I can reminisce about. Even the prolonged conclusion of the marriage plot easily hooks me as an equally patient reader. It seems that Boston during breaks somehow functions like a tranquilizer, loaded with a strong sedative that encourages appreciation of novelists once found abhorrent. And best of all, it’s free.

All of this, of course, reminds me of summer. Where maybe I wasn’t reading a 19th century novel, but listlessly reading an earth science textbook, and maybe it wasn’t thirty degrees out, but instead a humid eighty. The air conditioned library provided welcomed sanctuary in comparison to my sweltering Allston apartment, and the campus was equally as vacant, except for the few stragglers in summer courses. It was not an exotic summer by far, but I took care of graduation requirements and made some money. This vacation is comparably as average, but at least I know my bank account hasn’t suffered the blow of airfare and constant dining out. If anyone asks, I’ll just say I went to Bath, where returning still as ghastly as before would only be assumed.

About Kelly Felsberg

Kelly is a senior English major and copy editor for The Quad. She only writes with Sharpie pens.

View all posts by Kelly Felsberg →

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