I don't have a million friends yet, but I have the best roommates.
I run with some degree of regularity (emphasis on "some") but have probably still gained weight from all the awesome food we keep shoving down our throats.
The latest I've stayed out so far has been 2:30 am. And it was the latest by a long shot. Sad, I know.
The majority of my five guy friends are freshman.
I just humiliated myself in front of one of the two good-looking guys in my ward.
I consider sleeping past 8:30 "sleeping in."
I've started and finished three books this week.
I gave up on ever liking Jack Kerouac. Blech. Too self-centered.
Facebook is changing too rapidly. I get vertigo every time I sign on.
The trees have begun to change.
I still read in public places on campus, hoping to entice someone to walk up to me and ask "what are you reading?" or say "I loved/hated that book, what do you think of it so far?" or "I see you're reading a book. Sometimes I do that. Wanna hang out?" I'm not picky. I just miss having a lot of friends with whom I can talk about books.
Yes, this is another one of those obligatory blog posts, because I have so little news to share, so little to say. The light is falling ever southward and the clouds have dramatically chained themselves to the mountaintops, painting themselves in blood every night just before eight o'clock. I use the same route every day to walk home. Life is simple and slow and, while not a whirlwind, still beautiful.
And that's about all I have to say for now.
East Harlem -- Beirut
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