No artsy or awe-inspiring pictures for now.
Only Copepods.


The past several months have whirled past us in a cloud of graphite and lined paper. They've left us with a few more wrinkles under our eyes and on our foreheads. They've also brought triumph over anxiety and social depravity. We've filled our heads with many new things and have overall begun to think critically again. Begun. Professors have a wittiness that livens boring subjects like no home school comic ever could. (Sorry Ace, Christy, Pudge, Racer) I find her myself stifling hysteric giggles in a room of silent,tired, and otherwise uninterested eighteen-year-olds.
I like this new me. She rarely throws herself pity parties. She is too quickly moving forward to glance back. She makes friends and speaks up in class. She is balancing college work or at least giving it her best shot. Talking in the third person singular about yourself makes it seem a whole lot less egotistical. It is very freeing to take an outside look at yourself and rain compliments upon your head below.
When I understand concepts in school I find myself flashing back to the times that led to this understanding. In calculus class, all I can think about is Mr. Pinchot and Mrs. Phillips. The techniques I learned then in 5th grade math are ever comforting. I am so perplexed at what my life has become for me. The transition between this 5th grade and college was so sudden!I said I rarely throw pity parties. rarely. occasionally. Yet I cannot help missing childhood when I have these types of memories. It has become a persistent and subconscious goal to find a swing set. Rise, fall, and remember-- remember once more so I can finally forget.