Sometimes we remember our bedrooms

I went to the Dalhousie library the other day, and it reminded me that I liked being a student. I liked the daily routine. When I walked into the library I felt like I was continuing the same routine.

Every morning, I would run to catch a bus near my home. Then I would watch out the window as the bus rode to downtown. Often, Deborah was on the same bus as me, and sometimes I would go to school early so that we could take the same bus. I would get off the bus at the corner of Robie and Coburg, and then I would walk down Coburg and take a left at the management building. I could have taken a left a block earlier, but I liked to walk down a particular street; I liked to walk with the colossal, cobble-stone library building on one side and my new, yellow arts and social sciences building on the other. Plus, as an added bonus, the cooks from the management building were often outside smoking cigarettes in the morning.

The library almost always amazed me. It wasn't very tall, only five stories, but it seemed big. I often looked up at the windows to the fifth floor, and it made me feel small and close to the ground. Also, after appreciating the height of the library, I would begin to marvel at the height of the sky. For some reason, the sky went unnoticed when the library wasn't around.

We overlook many things: other people, for instance.