It feels like the end of an era.

I'm going "home" now. I'm leaving. Posts will become infrequent if at all. I will become bored, yet tired, skinny and tan. I'm taking home my Mark Twain, One Hundred Years of Solitude, a Prayer book, Paterson, and six great modern plays. I'm going to try to get up at four every day to have time to read. I'm leaving; I'm going "home" now. Bittersweet is a stupid word. Bye

mourning routine

When you're still a bit young in that sandy region, try a coffin nail and a cup of coffee...it works for me.

done

last semester of my junior year--four english seminars and one sculpture class: done

This feels like a metaphor...

I just stood outside and watched a bee land in a puddle. I watched it struggle and suffer for about ten minutes trying to beat its wings through the water to the edge. I wanted to help it, but I couldn't think of any way to do that that wouldn't possibly result in my getting stung. I thought about just chancing it and picking up the ungrateful bee between my fingers and how proud I would be when it stung me and I let it go, but then I remembered that if a honey bee stings someone it usually looses its stinger and dies. If that happened my sting would no longer be a sign of charitable suffering, instead I would be almost as guilty as if I let the bee be drowned, but then I would be putting it out of its misery, right? But then I realized that I didn't know how much bees suffer from that kind of death. The thought of stepping on it crossed my mind, but that would be to give up hope, not to mention with its final breaths the bee could send out a bee signal to all of its bee sisters and they could come and attack me and loose their stingers and die...I'd be guilty of a massacre as well. I'm going to go outside and check on its progress...maybe a dustpan could save it...

30 seconds later...

I just scanned the puddle it was beeless. I was happy. Then I saw right on the edge of the puddle a bee belly up, not moving at all. It was so close to the edge...or maybe like with quicksand once the bee finally died of exhaustion or aqua-inhalation or whatever the breeze easily moved its limp body right out of the problematic puddle. Well, I guess I'll never know...I spent too much time thinking about it...What am I guilty of...

Happy Pascha

Christ is risen!