So here I sit, in a small room made even smaller by two sets of belongings.
The wall-rattling music played downstairs ended a little while ago, while I tried to focus on cogent arguments and on immunology.
It’s bad luck I know, but I plot out the course of my next year and I can’t help feeling like everything is falling into place, if I can just keep this up. It’s bad luck I know but it feels almost within reach these times.
The irony doesn’t escape me, of my summertime cloister. I’m locking myself away, savoring asceticism, within the hallowed halls of the Berkeley chapter of Kappa Delta Rho. A banner across the entry hall stairs reads, “Honor Above All.”
Yes, I’m subletting a room in a frat house. Iconic of American collegiate excess, I hope that the time I spend here will be productive.
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I remember reading about how in certain parts of Asia and in Macedonia, people use cormorants to catch fish.
The fisherman uses a ring or tie on the bird's neck so it won't be able to swallow the fish it catches.
Every seventh fish the fisherman has to give to the cormorant or else the bird will stop fishing.
And if I remember correctly, after a few years, the cormorant won't fish for the fisherman any more.
The cormorant would rather starve than lose all but the seventh fish.
Except maybe that last part isn't true.
The fisherman uses a ring or tie on the bird's neck so it won't be able to swallow the fish it catches.
Every seventh fish the fisherman has to give to the cormorant or else the bird will stop fishing.
And if I remember correctly, after a few years, the cormorant won't fish for the fisherman any more.
The cormorant would rather starve than lose all but the seventh fish.
Except maybe that last part isn't true.
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