Wherein I Wax Poetic, and It Is Obnoxious, or: Four Months Later, I Come Back With THIS Crap:

I open the blinds to see the life laid out before me. Here, now, around me, it echoes, sometimes silently, sometimes loud, but always profound and good. I live here now; the streets and the hills are my own. I watch the fog and rain settle on the campus; I see cars milling slowly through the streets. I feel unsettled, but in a good way; something amazing is happening right now, isn’t it? I’m starting something exciting and new, and important. This is beautiful because I am restless and new, and so fucking in love with the world. I feel the divine ache as I am pulled between two places: my home, where my heart and my family are, and this new place, filled with opportunity and hope and change and fuck, it is so thrilling. My life has never felt this beautiful.

Thinking...

What does it say about what kind of day it will be when you wake up with the word 'motherfucker' stuck in your head?

Actually, it hasn't been all that bad, so far.