There are many, many things I could say.
Someone stopped me on the sidewalk as I was walking to class and told me with concern that I looked tired. That’s a first.
I spent all afternoon one day last week outside in the bitter cold with someone I admire, talking for a long time, and I was given the most real hug I have had since last semester. I didn’t realize how much I missed real hugs.
The Odd Society met for the first time this semester. We read G. K. Chesterton and drank tea and sang, and missed the people who couldn’t be there, and it was wonderful and sad and familiar.
I have spent more time actively seeking out and accepting opportunities to escape my apartment and spend time with friends than I ever have before. I have no free time to spend with people, so I give up the time that should be spent being a good student or employee to do it instead. I don’t regret it.
I cook alone now, and have already watched hours’ worth of television shows on my computer while eating and washing dishes. Otherwise, the terrible solitude of it all depresses me. Who am I kidding – it depresses me anyway.
I still say yes to doing things, even though I don’t have time for the half of it.
I carry paper and pens around with me everywhere, and every spare moment is spent in letter-writing. The letters come before homework, always. My priorities are not in the wrong place.
I am busy on campus from nine in the morning until ten thirty at night, and don’t come back to the apartment at all between those hours. Somehow I can manage to read a hundred pages of Jane Austen and choreograph a variation afterwards and still get to bed before two.
I get up earlier than I need to during the week, so I can get to Chapel half an hour before it starts – long before anyone else is there – and sit in the quiet and be alone and peaceful, and think.
I praise the Lord for every moment of sun, because it’s one more moment showing me that there is beauty even here.
There is a lot that I could say here. A lot of sad things, and even more beautiful, wonderful, miraculous things. Even the sad things are miraculous, sometimes.