I might be afraid of being alone
(03/30/18 3:38pm)
I used to think a lot.
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I used to think a lot.
On Tuesday night, I’m sitting in the common room of my new dorm. It’s shockingly nice—clusters of plush chairs are arranged in circles across the carpet, there are a few small TVs hanging on the white walls, and the tall, arching ceilings make the room feel more like a hotel lobby than a college dorm. There’s a person playing Chopin on the piano in the corner; she’s an elegant, wonderful pianist, and I’ve never seen her before in my life. That’s not altogether surprising, though. I don’t really know anyone here.
My apologies, fellow political junkies: in truth, State of the Unions aren’t all that important. They’re certainly interesting—Washington loves to pull out pageantry, from its deluge of issue-based pins to the carefully composed distress of the opposition. It’s a game of stand, clap, sit and repeat—good exercise, but not much policymaking. We don’t watch the State of the Union to see the implementation of policy, hear the announcement of new treaties or observe a government in action: we watch the State of the Union because the president’s words matter.
The email was sent on Dec. 29, 2008.
Don’t tell anyone this, but I’m a bit of a sucker for nostalgia. I love finding old photos, home videos, my notebooks from seventh grade—and I really love the kitschy “One year ago today…” Facebook feature. I’m the one who watches the “Friend-versay” videos, who delights in her ludicrous middle school posts. But a few days ago, Facebook reminded me of something different: what I had been thinking on Nov. 9, 2016, a day after the election of President Donald Trump. I had written a status.
Here’s a shocking, never-before-seen epithet for your listless Monday: I’m a Duke student, and I never feel like I have enough time.
In my 19 years of clumsy escapades, I’ve never once broken a bone. I’ve never needed surgery, never required follow-up appointments and never spent more than a few hours in the hospital or the doctor’s office. So when the back of my right heel started bruising and swelling at the beginning of this year, I didn’t know exactly what to do. I stopped running, started icing and tried to wait it out. But the strange, dull throb of pain near my ankle kept creeping its way up my calf. Eventually, I capitulated and owned up to those elusive three little words: I need help.
For just under three decades, Purvis was a janitor on East Campus. As do many of Duke’s service employees, Purvis lived in the Walltown neighborhood—a little neighborhood sandwiched between East Campus and Northgate Mall. Purvis, like many Walltown residents, rented his home—every month for nearly 30 years, he wrote a check for $275 and sent it off to his landlord. It wasn’t ideal—with his salary, he would’ve preferred to be paying less per month—but it was tenable. This monthly dance with his landlord continued until early 2013, when Purvis’ landlord asked him to vacate so he could make a few minor renovations on his home. Months later, when Purvis asked to move back in, his landlord agree—at a 190 percent rent hike of $800/month. After living in Walltown for nearly 30 years, Purvis had no choice: he packed his things and moved out. Soon afterwards, he suffered a fatal heart attack; today, Purvis is buried in a humble cemetery nestled at the edge of Walltown.
The DeWitt Wallace Center for Media and Democracy will feature Boston Globe reporter Matt Carroll in addition to a special screening of the Academy Award-winning film “Spotlight.”