A,B,C not so easy as 1, 2, 3

I woke up this morning and the sun was big and golden and it lit up my room is the beautiful golden glow - it felt like a dream. In fact it felt and looked so much like a dream that I turned off my alarm, rolled over and fell back asleep.

This week has been really draining.

It's provoked a lot of thoughts.

I look at this picture and it takes me back to when I stood there in the cold just watching. The stillness. The peace I felt.

I wish I was still on the farm.

One more week and Winter Quarter will be finished. For better or for worst.

Winter Quarter is not my favorite.

I haven't had a spare moment to myself in quite a while.

I wanted to update, but after spending every waking moment writing papers and preparing presentations the last thing I wanted to do was write again. I feel like anything and everything I'm saying is random babbling while my mind busily runs through everything I have to accomplish.

This morning is smelled like fish, and saltwater outside. It was really strange. We're close to the Sound, but I can't imagine why it smelled so strongly this morning. It made me smile...though...because I like living by the ocean and it was the smell you get after a day of playing in the ocean.

This Sunday, March 9, means I have officially been 20 for six whole months.

So strange.

I forget what age I am. People ask and I nearly say I'm 18 and then I stumble over my words and it comes out "eighuhmohtwenty" That's a good age. Eighuhmohtwenty.

Twenty just sounds silly on my tongue.

Yet, it's been six months.

So strange. The 16th and 17th century poetry I'm studying is all about time. The writers lament and complain about time all the, well, time. I do too. There's not enough. Or, when I'm in some classes there's too much. At night I'm sure time cheats and speeds ahead, but when I'm waiting for someone, or the bus, or a phone call. Time stops for a cup of coffee and quick nap.

Time. I have a bone to pick with you.

Stop trying my patience.

Stop running me ragged.

John Donne says it best in "The Sun Rising" (though the context is a bit out of place...I can still relate to his complaints):

BUSY old fool, unruly Sun,

Why dost thou thus,

Through windows, and through curtains, call on us ?

Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run ?

Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide

Late school-boys and sour prentices,

Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride,

Call country ants to harvest offices...

With that said. I'm going to go beat time (especially since we're losing an hour this weekend, that's even more unfair) and finish what I need to.