Late for the Sky

So here I go again; not sure what to write, don’t know why I’m writing, mind blank—exhausted, would be a better word—from writing thousands of words worth of ethnic literature commentary this afternoon, yet the commentary writing is far from done. This week’s load was to read a book and 17 short stories written by black authors, writing anything from a short commentary to a full-blown essay for each. I am group leader for this week’s English class so that means I have extra collaboration responsibilities in making sure there are no misunderstandings among us. As matters stand, group members are strung out across the US right now with the farthest extents residing in New Jersey and California. We’ve been using Google and Gmail to make group conversation a bit easier.

The math class is going great, maybe too good. A bit scary to me, perhaps, is the fact that I don’t hate math, and even more scary is the fact that I can get good grades with hardly any studying. Some of my seemingly bright classmates are taking tutoring and still struggling. Both of my math teachers introduced themselves as becoming math teachers when “they realized they didn’t totally suck at math.” But instead of teaching, I think I’ll go on to be the first accountant/financial officer/ditch digger who liked math. To be a first, you have to meet higher standards than everyone else (not sure where I read that or what it means entirely, but I like the ring of it).

Tonight I have big plans for me and the bike. I’ve been cooped up in the library basically all day, with the exception of a few hours off for class, and during that time I’ve knocked out a pretty respective pile of essays. Also during that time a portion of my brain has been scheming and coming up with different plans and routes to ride this evening when the sun is low. Today is Thursday, the college kid’s equivalent of the working man’s Saturday night; a long, relaxing time ahead of me before I need to hit the grind again. In the case of the working man, Saturday night and Sunday is kickback time—I get Thursday afternoon and all of Friday and Saturday and Sunday. So free days account for about 3.5 days of my week. That’s like the fisherman story you’ve all heard; the native in Belize sitting on a dock fishing, when a man in a yacht from Delaware pulls up and tells the native he needs to be more industrious so he can make lots of money and be able to retire and take fishing vacations in Belize. Well, I guess I’m already there…