jetplane

I sit in the slanted, narrow, rather uncomfortable airplane seats that so conveniently transform into flotation devices. (I wonder what it would be like to actually float on an airplane seat.)

I like airplanes. And I’m on my way home. To St. Louis. After a semester. Of college.

Yeah, so I don’t really have any profound thoughts at this moment regarding college, hence the fragments. That is how my thought-processing is functioning right now. My brain isn’t overloaded or burnt-out; in fact, it resents the prospect of a three-week hiatus, impatient for another semester. My brain has had enough under stimulus; my body has had enough 8-hour slumbers; my heart has had enough catharsis and enough self-reflection. I want to get out there and start mile 2 of the race. It’s a mile where the initial high wears off and the sweat drips and the muscles revolt.

I’m not a masochist, I swear.

I don’t want a new year. I don’t want new beginnings. I don’t want to start over. I’ve had enough of that; I want to keep going, “seguir, seguir, y seguir.”