Sometimes I imagine Hanah getting up in the morning, looking for her clothes among the piles on the floor, deciding whether she has time that day to brush her teeth or not and setting off to college. I imagine her walking up the hill among friends, greeting them as she approaches the right building, her portfolio bag heavy with the work that she has done. Is she on time turning her homework in? Well, as they say in the army: don't ask, don't tell.
She sits through the lectures, her ipod's bud in one of her ears, half listening to the professor, half - to music of her choice. Her phone vibrates, "Mother " - she texts furiously - "I'm in class!" Part of her is glad that she doesn't have to deal with me right then. Why? I don't know!
As the day rolls on, she becomes more and more anxious to be free of the oppressive droning of the professors, of constant obedience to the schedule. She gleefully walks toward the theater where she is assisting with the current productions. Every smile or greeting that she receives from her peers there is a salve to her ego, because she knows that she is useful and needed there.
I remember that feeling of forgetting everything for the work that I loved. Of going home only when there was no other choice. I hope that she can feel just as fulfilled in her other pursuits, though. People and theaters disappoint, putting all eggs in one basket is never a good idea!