I used to say college would be like diving into the ocean, but now I am pushing off shore.

And glancing back, I see a younger Me waving. I notice now Others who speckle the shoreline waving. My eyebrows stretch and my skin fold to smile. Advertised upon the beach, I see promises- some fractured, some intact. But these things grow fainter and I know there will still be understanding. I spin 'round and make my body like ivory- a stern salute now.
One that'll make everyone proud.

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I'm trying to avoid meats (excluding fish) for the next 39 days.

I'd prefer not to make myself unable to eat meat without getting sick so I will stop before I get to that point. I hope it is within the 40 days but I will not hold myself to the 40 day choice. If it's a problem, I will drop it all together. My biggest challenge will be getting as much protein as I usually do with the cafeteria sources here. Anyhow, any tips are appreciated.

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A guy in my graduating class died Friday.

I'm not sure how to put this the way I want..

The first death of my high school class died Friday.
He wasn't one of my buddies from back then though. He was a friend of a friend or a best friend of a friend. And on rare occasions, I would run into him. So we're not just acquaintances; we're that intermediate between acquaintance and friendship. I was a decent friend of his little brother's. I've been to his house on a number of occasions and even spent the night there. I know what type of guy he is and most likely the cause of death.

Just.. even in what's left of my fragmented high school cynicism, I am restless and uneasy thinking about what his death means. And when I say that, it's not some grand symbol. It's death, concrete and definite. That's not what trips me up as I occasionally survey his Facebook as well as his friends. And honestly, I don't know what I'm looking for. Yesterday, I was fascinated by his last status update. I wanted to know what he was thinking last even though he died in his sleep. Only to be found unresponsive by one of my closer adolescent age friends who roomed with him. I spoke with another guy Raul and he knew exactly what he was looking for. He told me he couldn't believe the guy was gone and wanted to attend the memorial service. Raul knew what he was looking for. I don't know what I'm trying to find by looking at what other people say. I'd like to think that I grasp the concept of death easily but I know myself to know that this may not be true. That in looking for something I cannot identify, I am only trying to find closure.

I still don't know if I'm going to the memorial service. I don't exactly feel like I deserve to be there. I just.. I think I want to talk to someone about this. Talk about the bigger picture, about how this is going to happen again. How this will happen to someone we don't expect, how we won't see it coming, how I want to be there but not have my world overturned. I want to marvel at how everyone, who having separated into their own futures, look inward at the circle again. How the harmony this year has been ruptured and slowly will be pieced together. Somehow, I feel entitled, no gifted, to say that one of Us have fallen.

We did have the same jacket, he and I. It was tan, thick coat Columbia one. The same one he and I watched a college soccer match or two at the local Manchester stadium in our same home town with our same friends who went to the same school. It was cold. The bleachers were moist and you had to wipe the water off with your hand before sitting. It was cold and windy. Felt like low to mid 40s. We joked around about how warm our jackets were. They have a nice fabric cushion on the inside. To our left, Andrew, who never had his first kiss, sat with two girls he knew. We were on the bottom row. He asked me if I would sell him the oxycodons I got from my dental surgery. I lied and said they were gone. I never thought- I'm dramatizing far too much now.

He was a guy in my graduating class. He was a friend of a friend and a pleasant conversationalist.

Tomorrow, he'll also be a character in a short story and after that, if I choose, a body in a casket within the same room as me. To a lot of people, he was a lot more. I don't know what the point of this was but it's being posted.

If you've read this far, you're very patient with my thinking. Thank you.

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I find myself wanting to write about people's suppressed need to talk to someone. Maybe it's a reaction but then again maybe it signifies my own need for it. Am I unconsciously suppressing again? O.o

I can never tell really. It usually just happens.

I keep thinking about the phrase "I'm glad I talked to you." I feel as though the statement is seldom used but that's good really in that it doesn't became expected like a "Well, it was good seeing you." To me, at least. Nothing really beats two people becoming silent for a moment and one saying, "You know, I'm glad I talked to you." And the other just smiling in return.

Anyhow, I feel as though I slapped together a short story for the Fiction Writing workshop today. Well, I don't just feel that way, I know I threw it together. I feel somewhat inadequate in that class at times. Remembering that I'm just inclined to prefer others' work to mine own, I decide against dropping it. I don't read nearly as much as I should for it. I don't even deserve this beard of mine with the severe lack of reading. Blah.

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I am intimidated by my British Literature up to 1800 course this semester. Although this is the first reading assignment, I'm already having doubts. This is my first time having encountered the Canterbury Tales and we've been assigned the General Prologue. There's just one problem. I remember reading Shakespeare in class and believing it was an absolute cakewalk but Chaucer is different. I read through Chaucer incredibly slow, constantly glancing at provided footnotes that seem to litter the text, maliciously. I've decided so far that I'm not a fan of Middle English but the course has yet to provide redemption.

Anyhow, on a lighter note, today (in technicality the 12th) I attended my first Fiction Writing course which after an introduction I shall now call "Short Story Fiction Writing." It was enjoyable though I sensed immediately the uneasiness that came with realizing.. I may be the only Freshman in that class. It's not so easy to admit but.. I feel as though, in general, the maturity of their knowledge surpasses my own. Yes, what most say seems so refined.

Anyhow, back to reading Chaucer.

1:42 AM Edit:
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Nix not liking the Canterbury Tales. It just got way better after the Prologue. :D

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Should we avoid a song due to its nostalgic definition?

I would say it's an injustice to do so. A memory is a memory. No degree of resistance will reverse experience. (With exception to amnesia and traumatic memory blocking) The sooner we accept the past in its entirety, the quicker we end a pain. Although my minds float back in the river of memory, our feet will keep pace. The Earth spins on.

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