the myth of the west...

I think I might be contemplating settling down [how's that for a decisive statement].

I decided that I'm pretty much in love with American Literature. I had a good long relationship with the Romantics, and I will eternally appreciate them and view the world differently because of our time together. But life equals continuous change [growth?].

American Lit just might be the one for me. Of course, one can't always judge a relationship by the first months. Maybe it's just the presentation this year. Then again, I had Dr. Freeh [the italian god of literature, the adventurous life, and all things completely cool] for Romantic last semester. It also could be that it's one of the more remotely modern things that has snuck past traditional Hillsdale. [should i start rooting for a 'women authors' course?] I feel comfortable with it, though it, by nature, is rarely comforting.

Oh, there are others I adore, and always will. This summer definitely holds some serious Russian and British Lit plans.

Spring Break officially arrives at 9:50 am tomorrow [bio test]. I'm returning to the West to find my writing ability [which is eternally absent from Hillsdale. did you notice how my posts decrease the longer i'm in this place without escape?], but not to my grand city. I am sending an ambassador, though. Be nice to her.

My flip flops are packed. It's strange to think of trading the snowfall for palm trees. The West is a place of purity and opportunity. A chance to rise again, like Adam from his sleep, and find something completely new and wonderful staring you in the face. Reinvention and rejuvination are on the menu, along with haircuts, sailing, shopping, theatre, tacos and a girls spa day.

Look out, Muse. Here I come.