I took a train and came up from Carolina, I was looking for something to do

I was holed up in my room today finishing up the overwhelming load of homework I needed to get out the way by tomorrow. Actually, I'm still holed up and working on an essay about the significance of superstitions found within Huck Finn. I remember the projects that we had to do sophomore year in regards to this novel, and I also remember getting a C+ on the video we made because Nancy didn't specify exactly what she wanted the video to include.

But that's not the point.

I'm sitting here and the room is silent save for Ray LaMontagne playing quietly from the speakers. To my immediate left I can now look out the window (I rearranged my room in order to avoid writing a Comm report) and see the steeples of two churches, the top of Belk library, the mountains and the sky which is, honestly, one of the most gorgeous skies I have seen in a while.

It's cold. It's still. I'm fine.

As much as I'm excited for next Wednesday morning to arrive when, fresh from spending the night in the airport, I'll board the plane at 5:00 am and head first to Atlanta and then Indianapolis, I'm also a bit nervous. I haven't been home for three months. That's not the part I'm particularly worried about. Well, maybe it is.

When I first arrived in Boone, I said I missed people, not places. I missed friends and family and awkward moments and pets and the familiar faces on the television screen. I think I may have judged too quickly. I was snuggled under my covers a few nights ago and my heart started to ache for places, not people. I miss my backyard and polish pool tournaments in crowded basements. I miss seeing the copper carbonate roof of St. Mark's on my way to church every Sunday and the downtown skyline. I miss taking naps on our big couch on lazy Saturday afternoons with a muted college football game playing in the background. I miss driving down Bluff and Banta and Edgewood and Meridian at night with the perfect mix and the windows cracked slightly. I try my hardest to explain to people what everything looks like, but I fail. Every single time, I fail. But I suppose that's just fine.

It's home.

So maybe I've changed or maybe I haven't. Maybe places have changed or maybe they haven't. I understand things won't be the same when I return on Wednesday. It's scary, but I understand. I understand that living by myself for the past three months has instilled in me a sort of independence, but, truth be told, I need my parents more than ever. So, I think that's the way things will go for some time. A little bit of freedom and a little bit of home in just the right dose. Somewhere, deep down, I'm preparing to fly away. Certainly not now. Certainly not within the next year. But soon. And that, I think, is the most exciting thing of all.

Take it slow, take it easy on me

Dr. Paul Henry Gates, Jr., I love you in all of your Dov Charney-esque splendor. Especially when you make mistakes because it keeps my sleepy brain entertained. But mostly because you fuel my immature fire. Like this morning in class when instead of saying "baby boomers," you said,

"boobies."