Staring at these types of things has done nothing for my thesis. My mother, who shakes her head at how much time I spend staring at my screen for a moment's worth of inspiration tells me that I need to stop staring and get a life, instead. She assures me that, in a month, no one will ever stare at my thesis, again. She calls this encouragement.

My mother, however, has harped on my staring for a long time, now. She says that I stare so much that I miss a lot of things. I tell her that I am staring at what's important right now, and that I'll stare at other things later, when I get the time. She's frustrated by this, but I've just continued to stare at what I want to, and she's just continued to be frustrated.

It is a luxury, this staring. But when things are good, you're able to afford the luxury of staring with nothing to nag your conscience, except, maybe, your mother, and she doesn't really count.

But these things I have been pausing to stare at lately, these terrible things going on half way around the world, well, they just don't belong. They don't seem right. They weren't supposed to happen this way. And they threaten this luxury of mine.

For the next week, of course, I really can't afford to stare at anything other than the blank spaces on my screen where words are supposed to be for the thesis I should be writing. But I've used excuses like that a lot over the past four years, and soon, they won't work anymore. I'll have to account for what I choose to spend my time staring at. And when I see terrible things like the ones halfway across the world, I'll have to stop and think about what I spend my time staring at. Then, I may know the shame of staring too hard, but not staring hard enough.

J.P. Rollert '00-'01 is a social studies concentrator in Mather House. His column appears on alternate Wednesdays.