William Wallace

I am done.

What does that feel like? It feels like driving 2 1/2 hours in the pouring rain and dark (the dark was pouring, too) to Annie's apartment in Dayton, where she fed me chocolate covered soy beans (what the heck?) and let me sleep on her floor. It feels like curling up on the couch with a blanket smelling of clean laundry, the rainy air coming in through the open window and pink apple blossoms quivering in the breeze. It feels like waking up in the morning and just lying there...just lying there...just lying there. It feels like walking to Rita's with Sarah through green suburban neighborhoods with fields of dandelions and eating a mango Italian Ice, and taking a nap on Sarah's couch even after 9 full hours of sleep.

Asbury College can take our lives, but they can never take our freedom.

Isabel says (or, rather, sings) in Scrooge that "happiness is whatever you want it to be." I think summer suits me pretty well right now as my definition of happiness. Though I have yet to be home since classes ended almost a week ago, I am muchly contended with friend-visiting while I have the chance. Chris in the movie Into the Wild said something about joy not only being found in human relationships, but in the creation God has placed around us. That's true, to a great extent...but I think I would prefer my human relationships over my relationships with trees. Somehow having my plant strapped into the passenger side of my car as I journey around the Midwest is not as fulfilling as, say, a friend.

I am rambling, because a.) Annie is gone and I'm lonely (the tree is not talking back), b.) cigarette smoke is filtering in through her walls and I feel like lung cancer, and c.) somehow my body thought it was funny to tease me with the prospect of a nap and then get excited about being awake. To you, body, I say: Poo.