And then there is the over-appreciation stage. Even with two months left, I spend my time trying to capture the essence of Marquette and store it deep within myself. I want to be Marquette, breathe it in, fill my lungs until I burst. Even after I've gone, I want tiny particles of my matter to hover over the corner of Front Street and Washington.
In this stage, I love everything about this place. Why, look at that lamppost! Surely Marquette has the finest lampposts. So black. So shiny. So sturdy. And there's the bagel shop that never seems to toast my bagel completely. How quaint. How quirky.
Every drive with the radio on generates an awareness of finality. The next time I hear this song, I'll be in Spokane, and I'll think, oh remember those final months in Marquette.
It is suddenly unacceptable to be frivolous with time. Nothing is commonplace. Every moment is a last, every experience a goodbye, every goodbye a travesty, every thought just a little exaggerated.
