The sound of runnin' is always on my feet

I'm practically done with my freshman year of college. Next week we go until Wednesday, Reading Day is the following day, and finals start on Friday. I don't really know what to make of it just quite yet. It certainly didn't feel like nine months, but I guess it never will. For once it doesn't seem like I am required to feel some sort of emotion. In high school I felt like I needed to have some great fear of the unknown, and to some extent I did. But here I simply feel comfortable. I'll take a break for a few months, and then I'll come back to the mountains where I know I'm supposed to be. I'll come back to the Blue Ridge, and to my slacklining, Chacos-wearing, banjo-picking, rock-climbing, salvia-smoking Mountaineers.

Anyway, so I have a lot of free time on my hands now. That leaves a lot of time for hammocking. And getting myself into uncomfortable tight spots. Or sleeping. I just woke up from a five hour nap which, I'm pretty sure, it technically called "sleeping." But it's probably one of the greatest naps I've had in a long time. Not because it's sticky and thundering outside, and there are few things that I love more than a good thunderstorm, but because my dream involved Jeff Tweedy. And that, dear friends, might be enough to get me through these last few weeks of school.

Rave on, I say, "Rave on"

Tonight I scribbled a letter on the back of an Old Testament worksheet. I then transcribed it to a lined piece of paper. After that, a card. It's sitting nicely on my desk, nestled against a three-hole punch and a case of Suede & Nubuck. I doubt I'll gather up enough courage to send it. Though things would be much easier if I did. I doubt I'll ever write another one. Though things would be much easier if I did. So instead I'll sit here listening to M. Ward with sleepy eyes and a cramp in my hand.