Oh, I like Choco Rios at the Weary Traveler on a snowy Monday night. It was hot Mexican cocoa + alcoholic banana something + cinnamon, cinnamon, cinnamon. So good. Bernd tasted like grog the rest of the night. Just kissing him with grog on his breath burned MY throat—that’s how strong that drink was! Mine just deepened my feeling of settled, sweetly sleepy contentment.
My stuff moves home today and I move home tomorrow. I walk around campus and feel strange and severed. I was such a good student, and now I need to learn how to be a good somebody else. I don’t know where I go directly from here, but I keep thinking of a Wendell Berry poem:
Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.
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