I have a red kite, I'll put you right in it.

I miss my brother. He is so funny.

I saw the second bus stop guy today on campus. In fact, I almost ran into him outside of Denney.

I forgot how much I loved being the only one awake at night. I've always remembered this about the morning, but large intervals of time pass between the occasions where I am the only one awake at night. I don't think it's that I like being awake when people are asleep in general- I think it's that morning and night are on the brink of things. I've missed my orange glowing street. Have I not been paying attention to it for months, or do I only appreciate it especially when only I am awake? Why are these things so?

I really love my orange glowing street. I can't wait until I am the only one awake in my dark room watching silent snow illuminated by the orange light. This is a distinct memory I have from last winter.

My orange glowing street.

I was reading Czech goodness, got up to blow out a candle, and a few words from "Kubla Khan" came to mind. I have not read Coleridge in about three years...

Tour

This week has been a whirlwind, and continues to be. I've learned I need to check weather.com before venturing to campus because it is most likely that I have picked the least sensible shoes available to me. Also, Brazilian movies about wonderful artists are sometimes different than you think they will be.

Every morning on the drive to WC, I take the same route and give myself a tour. Imagining I'm showing myself my favorite spots and narrating. For example, to my right lies a beautiful park reminding me of when I was a young girl living near the city and escaping to green, yellow, orange and swings after a hard day of school. That never happened but sometimes I could swear it did. On my left are my favorite strand of apartments in existence, and immediately following them on my right is a beautiful house with a bus stop outside the window. There, a man of average height dressed nicely is waiting for a COTA, and a mere two blocks (if that) after is another bus stop, occupied by a man of, say, 27, with dark hair and square-toed tan shoes. He is slender with slouchy narrow shoulders and he looks amused as though he knows I am giving myself a tour that includes him. Next, still on my right, is a charming movie theater I will absolutely go to when I have a chance, generally showing 1 or 2 titles I may or may not have heard of, but always screening the Buckeye games every Saturday at the appropriate kick off time. Following that is a wonderful and humble looking coffee shop with the best name, recommended to me by that friend who moved to Detroit. Sometimes, but not always, this house on my left will contain about 10 kids waiting for a school bus and chasing each other around on the front porch of a store in what appears to have been once a house. I am not in my right lane yet because there will be at least one vehicle, probably a green jeep maybe accompanied by a maroon car, parked in it before I get to my needed perpendicular street. Two or three cars will likely not know this and become visibly frustrated as they swerve into the left lane, the lane I am in because I know this street, only to return swiftly to their original right lane, onto which I will merge because I know there will be no cars again before I turn.

There are about a million other components to this tour, but I already have exposed my morning too deeply to you. Perhaps thoroughly revealing my nerdiness all the while.

Also, I've found when I blog about what I hope to soon blog about [see last entry], it satisfies my craving for having mentioned it, and I no longer feel the need to elaborate. Oops?

Kundera is so good it freaks me out, and the ending of Knowle's A Seperate Peace was unexpected but fitting. Oddly enough, I ran into someone tonight that reminds me of Phineas somehow. I didn't realize it until I saw this person, but it was them I had been thinking of the entire time I was reading. How strange, and not suitable for conversation. I find it amusing, all of it, because this person doesn't necessarily fit the Phineas "type," yet when I really get into thinking about how this person could have surfaced subconsciously in my mind as my tangible Phineas, it still somehow made sense.

Which reminds me... I don't make sense.

Notecards to Blog

Hopefully if I get to it soon I will post on things like writing while driving, restless hands, this girl at a local coffee shop with a high pitched voice, and winter quarter's scheduled learning.

Also, the autumnal beauty.

this whole china/africa thing is interesting.