Last night, I sat in the middle of a semi-circle of books and shut them one-by-one like dominos. Goodnight Kripke, goodnight Putnam, goodnight Frege, goodnight Russell. I flipped through my notes one final time before shoving them to the side, grabbing my keys, shutting off the light, and bouncing over to my roommate. We hopped out the door and down the stairs behind our dorm and into our friend’s car, and 15 minutes later found ourselves huddled in the dark, staring at the glow of the Donut Man sign.

We promised each other we’d wait to eat them at home, but snuck bites the entire ride back. Soon, I found myself back in my room, surrounded not by books, but by six plump pastries. Amidst a whirlwind of applications and The Leviathan and summer plans and long essays and Xing out calendar days, nothing embodies perfection better than a (subjectively) perfect circle of 90-cent maple glaze.

Lately, I’ve found the days have passed so quickly and seamlessly that I haven’t noticed them slipping through my hands. I’ve been confronted with clues that should mark the passing time, like class registration and admissions days and the sun, but I’ve listlessly ignored them, burying my head in a book, or some website, or my bed. For now I’m just remembering the donuts and choosing not to reflect otherwise. Because although the summer promises exciting things, it also promises the beginning of my senior year…