Editor’s Note
I’ve spent much of winter secluded in my room. The double-threat of COVID and cold weather prevented any half-hearted attempts to cross the threshold of my darkside dorm beyond what was necessary (sustenance, testing, and sometimes, classes). I’ve been a pretty model citizen in this regard—self-quarantining, limiting contact with other people, etc. But all this hermit-esque behavior has had the unpleasant side-effect of producing unfortunate angst within me. I’m talking about there’s-nothing-new-under-the-sun, no-one-will-ever-understand-anyone-else, middle-schooler-discovers-Ecclesiastes-or-Nietzche-for-the-first-time type of angsty. And now that the weather, like a temperamental teenager, keeps shifting between 80 degrees one day and 45 the next, I’m feeling antsy too, impatient for the summer and impatient for the pandemic to be over and always in anticipation for some promise that has never been promised and is always on the precipice of arriving. I think that’s a pretty good description of this issue. A little angst, a little agitation, and a little zaniness. So here’s to the end of another academic year, to all the subsequent semesters that will continue to occur at Hamilton with or without us, to stones and pebbles and granules of sand that will outlast even Shakespeare, and to the general existential angst that we can count on to haunt us once every few months. As the inimitable Virginia Woolf once said, let us enjoy what we do enjoy, which is to say, this issue.
Blessings,
Me