And but for the sky there are no fences facing.

I guess it's Friday again. Just took a test, actually. In my History of the American West class. Had to write a little bit about the Whitman Massacre, the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, the Camp Grant Massacre, the Battle of Little Bighorn, and the Nez Perce War. Fun stuff. Well, for me. Not so much for the Native Americans. Or Custer. But he kinda had it coming.

So if it's just us . . . seems like an awful waste of space.

I have now been on campus for eight days and attended exactly zero classes. 'Tis the nature of pre-season cross country. My days have mostly consisted of the following:

Once we overcome our fear of being tiny, we find ourselves on the threshold of a vast and awesome Universe that utterly dwarfs — in time, in space, and in potential — the tidy anthropocentric proscenium of our ancestors.

Before I get in to what has been occupying my time over the past seven days, I'd like to make note of what I foresee happening in the next twenty-one. Starting today and going 'til Friday is my last week of classes this semester. The week after that is finals. I've got two exams and two papers, the last of which is due on Saturday the 17th, which is, incidentally, the day I fly from Burlington, through God knows how many connections (or does He?), to Salt Lake City, where I will be staying (well, not in SLC itself, but in the nearby Wasatch range) with my family until Boxing Day (eh?), at which point we shall fly back to Orange County. At least zat is ze plan.