Word: dreading
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Spring has sprung; the rites are upon us. The annual process of Making Sure the Lawn Looks Perfect for Commencement-- a process which, for many of us, is dialectically invested with both anticipation and dread--is once again underway. The squadron of landscape-artists has been unleashed; like Stravinsky, they aspire to create a magnum opus of the season's rituals. With ardor, with bags of dirt, they have already begun to transform the Yard from a relatively pleasant, serene meadow into a confusion of cordons, chemical grass simulacra and bare patches of earth hideous to behold. Harvard subsists...
Does anybody remember RSI? A year ago, even the few of us unsure of what the dread acronym stood for (for the record, both repetitive strain injury and repetitive stress injury are correct) knew enough to tremble at the slightest twinge in our wrists. Idle hands would lapse unconsciously into the aptly-named "prayer stretch" as we invoked our various patron saints to protect us from the debilitating disease. These days, however, as the "RSI Action Group" mousepads at email terminals start to fray at the edges, the former scourge of the keyboard seems about as threatening as scurvy...
...dangerously remiss in failing to rev up planning for a ground campaign. Still others--recoiling from the live possibility of putting "our boys" on Balkan ground--are pressing for any negotiated way out. And few in the alliance can yet name the specifics of a peace plan: some nations dread the idea of an independent Kosovo; others embrace it. What Clinton and his confreres have left unsettled is just how they intend to fight this war to the finish--and that, more than any photo-op cheeriness, will determine what kind of alliance 21st century NATO will turn...
...dread having to leave knowing I have to go back to this other life," says Henley-Cohn about his academics...
...couldn't do my chem problem sets. The tiniest thing completely frustrated me. Everything with my mother was a fight. I couldn't be nice. I couldn't stop my overwhelming selfishness--everything was affecting me. How I felt. How I reacted. It was a feeling of dread--there was no way out of my self-obsession. What would I do if he died? Where would my mom and I go? I could not escape the constant image of my mother weeping. And her voice: "I hope he lives to see you graduate...