After a whirlwind week that was pseudo-named “spring break” I boarded a Southwest plane this morning and sat by the window, intently watching as we rose up, farther away from home.
I’m leaving you, my homeland. You, with your brown patches surrounding your frozen lakes. You are dead and icy, but when I come back you will be green and coming back to life.
I’m sure I will be, too. The last two months of this semester are asking much of me, which can make a girl feel less alive, but deep breaths from the new air in town will help.
I don’t like airplane turbulence. The shaking, the threat of falling out of the sky. It makes me think that man is not welcome in the skies, and the clouds are trying to shake him down. We weren’t meant to soar, but it makes it faster to get back to school.
Something crazy has been happening this year. I haven’t had to buy coffee once. Not-a-once. My friend Kristin brought me Austrian coffee back from Europe, and my professor gave me Puerto Rican coffee because she knows writers need coffee (and I was trying to conserve by going down to one cup a day). Then my parents brought me coffee beans back from the vacation they took without me to San Diego that I’m not bitter about. It’s good coffee, too. And my friend, Harold and Dawn sent a bag home with my parents to give to me, just because they’re kind.
I like having friends who support my habit… and my sanity.
It’s like God knew that I would see having extra supplies of caffeine as having extra troops. There may be many a box to check off that list, but we are so stocked with java that we can take anything down.
And so, into the next half of the semester we go, coffee cups in hand and a prayer at the ready.