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[7 | Entry: J.F.] Download or Read PDF

Journal 12/13/2020, J.F.

The semester is over, and a drink is in order, for it has been three months and a fortnight since the last. 

I sit at my office—gazing upon a brick wall—wishing for the long-lost love I have never known. Note something about antivibration and subatomic measures…

The students await their final grades, and my research is coming to an end. Dr. Onellion expects a finished essay over quantum entangled particles on a non-subatomic scale by the end of the year, and I haven’t even started the work. There is a young girl in my hypothetical physics course that has had me in knots all semester. Something about her just takes me out of reality and sets me into a bizarre sensation of bliss—even though we haven’t but spoken once. She must be at least ten years young than me as well. She would probably run for the hills if she ever saw me while drinking anyways. I suppose I am doomed to a life of anti-intimacy bounded by the shackles of a genuine passion, a passion no one else on this planet could ever experience or even understand exists. Somewhere along the line, I must have been cursed to hold the knowledge and capability of true love but to never share it with another. Oh, how I dream of her, though. I wonder where she is from; she doesn’t look like she is native to the lands of Wisconsin. Whatever. I shall move on and erase the semester with a fresh drink this day, for it has been 14-weeks plus 2 since I last entered the land of delusional harmony. 

JF

Postscript: I almost forgot that it is my birthday today – It must be kismet!

JF

[7.1 | First Snow]

The first snowflake of the year has made itself present to the city of Madison. It falls from the sky, swirling and flipping until it finds a home somewhere in the center of the isthmus melting instantly upon its arrival. Soon to follow, its billions of brothers and sisters will litter the earth bringing beauty back to the baron city currently speckled with leafless trees and brown, wilted grass. 

Young J.F. has finished his first semester as a TA at the University of Wisconsin—Madison. He has spent the past 14-weeks teaching his original course on Hypothetical Physics. A system and subject he developed and of which his doctoral research was over. He waits in limbo to receive his Ph.D. as the other professors do not have faith in his claims, stating: “Until the work can be proven, we cannot award J.F. his Doctorate.” A challenging task to accomplish considering the mere vastness of simplicity his work is. However, many of the professors found the result quite intriguing and beneficial to up-and-coming research in theoretical physics, so they allowed J.F. to host his own course teaching the subject. At the same time, he pursues another topic of research so to obtain his degree. 

In the basement of Science Hall on N Park St., Bricks line the walls floor to ceiling with creaking wooden blanks above at the end of an abandoned hall. These planks would puff out spores of dust if the right stomp was placed on the floor above. He is a minimalist, only keeping a plain drawerless desk and old straight-back wooden chair in the office. There are no paintings on the wall, cabinets, shelves, or anything other than another old desk chair someone had brought in at some point to sit across from the desk. tap-tap-tap

While scribbling gibberish in his notebook, J.F. is startled by a light knock on his door. He looks up to see the very girl he was daydreaming about and instantly loses his ability to be his natural-eccentrically-suave-self. 

“Dr. Quasar” “No. It’s just J.F. I am not worthy of the title just yet, my dear.” “Oh. I doubt that very much, Dr. Q.” “Please. I am fine with being called J.F. What can I do for you?” “Well. I just wanted to thank you for