Maybe it was the deep lyrics of Muse pouring from my stereo, or the thoughts of my last week here approaching that started those turntables in my head a-spinnin (wait—I’m not a disc jockey)…it must have been the mixture of too much jazz and liquor (okay, nor am I Roxy Hart) BUT for some reason I started thinking about how I would soon be returning to my now “normal” life, where I am poor, yet learning, and living on my own (kinda), and how much I love these little vacations to Puerto Rico (the one located in central Nebraska). Each time I come back is like an escape from “the real world” and I return to the place where you can go sledding in June, play board games until 2:30, or throw silly parties with balloons, streamers, fish with hats, and fake jello shots and spray cheese (not together of course), and then walk out to your car to find it covered in seran-wrap...I know your out there....somewhere...or even go to Six Flags for 2 rides, or coerce your compadres to going to unmentionable concerts (yes plural) or answer the phone when those friends call from said concert(s)--- Anyways, the thoughts comforted me as I almost started drifting to sleep (as if Mary Poppins herself were singing me a lullaby) and I thought how wonderful it is that I’ll always be able to come back and take a break from reality and just spend time with friends.

Though the reality is, I won’t always be able to. That thought kept me awake, and now typing here. Everyone knows how hard it is to get the few current collegiates together as is, but what happens when the rest of the gang is off to their respective cities as well? What will become of this comfort bubble? Sure we can all keep in touch and have the occasional reunion (which will be awesome, I promise you—better than the high school kind), but will we ever be able to go back to Puerto Rico? And though we’ll always have the photos and souveniers (hey, I’m not admitting to stealing anything from anybody) will the memories and feelings begin to fade like the pictures of booty once plastered to a locker door? One can hope not…after all, the song goes, “there is no arizona” I remember nothing about foreign countries that exist within state borders..let alone cafeterias.

Although not even a 3rd of my life is lived yet (keepin my fingers crossed...who knows how many campers and camper stories lie ahead of me), and I have no idea why I feel so nostalgic this fine mourn (and yes it is morning considering it is now 12:29 am) I believe that the last few years are amongst some of the greatest in my life. And I have you lovely people reading this to thank for that (Yes, even those parents who randomly pop in..and more folks who don’t read…and less that do, but don’t know me). Wow, what a post eh? Crazy like an Irish fruitloop...

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