"Pick one line from the script."

It was real to me, so it was real.

Epic Poetry

The Aeneid is eleven books too long.

it may not always be so;and i say

it may not always be so;and i say
that if your lips,which i have loved,should touch
another's,and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart,as mine in time not far away;
if on another's face your sweet hair lay
in such silence as i know,or such
great writhing words as,uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

if this should be,i say if this should be--
you of my heart,send me a little word;
that i may go unto him,and take his hands,
saying,Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands.

-e.e. cummings

Upon Returning From A Midnight Theatre Rehearsal

I jam my key into the lock and turn it clockwise two full rotations, pushing down on the metal handle and quietly prodding the door open. A single fluorescent light sneers down from the ceiling, basking the girl farthest from where I stand in a glow that for anyone else would be described as "unflattering" but for her merely elicits an acknowledgment of how crappy the electricity is here. Everyone present sleeps, with the exception of my exhausted self, hovered in the doorway, silently removing this tiny metal concrete password from its rite of passage and clicking the door shut behind me. The girl closest to the door hides beneath mountains of covers; she does not want to be observed and I frankly am too tired to consider acting otherwise. My own bed, untouched and yet to be mussed, has much unfortunately fallen victim to the ranks of two rather noisy sleepers. From one end I hear the occasional passage from an airy, nasal sonata. The other end presents for me a steady, throaty performance muffled slightly by a strategically-placed textbook upon which the performer's head now rests, though likely unintentionally.

I am in between these two, and I jointly occupy the middle of all three.
They surround me in slumber
yet I feel strangely
unprotected and
alert.

The single thing I keep thinking to myself.

I miss home.

Day Two

I haven't had time to process all of my thoughts about college yet. I just finished my second full day of classes and am already swimming in work. I feel like there is no time to think about anything. I cannot reflect because I have no availability to do so. My brain is constantly "ON," always processing where I am going, what I am doing, and who I need to see. Tomorrow I have only one class and afterward I plan on taking an hour to sit down, shake out my head until it is empty, and then fill it back up with new reflections.

What I can say, though, is how much I welcome each and every text message and phone call. Alex, Laura, Emily, Leanne, Katie, Mum and Dad and Katiedoo: you are the persons who inspire me to make it through each day, and just know that any time, and every time, my phone beeps or lights up with a message from you, a smile climbs up my cheeks and internally I feel safe in a way that only memories and reminders of home can provide.

I'm finally here!

And I'm loving it and hating it at the same time.
Mostly the love outweighs the hate, and that's good enough for now.

A Definition

"That's not courage. Fighting is like champagne. It goes to the heads of cowards as quickly as of heroes. Any fool can be brave on a battle field when it's be brave or else be killed. I'm talking of something else. And my kind of cowardice is infinitely worse than if I had run the first time I heard a cannon fired."

-Margaret Mitchell
Gone With the Wind

KGD

Katie went off to her first day of seventh grade today with a smile on her face, and even though she somehow, despite her diligent morning routine, managed to miss the bus, I am told that her loopy grin refused to subside as she hopped into the car and sped off before the school bells rang.

She is nervous but she has no need to be.
She is beautiful and I will miss her.