I just got home from a midnight iPod walk in Logan. I do this often, and I'm not alone; my friend Cody recently mentioned this same activity on his blog, paper badge, stating that logan is perfect for this ("great scenery. low crime rate" Titmus 2009). For me, I always end up at the same location: USU campus.
Let me back up. Today was a crappy day. It's funny to me how inactivity can at times be your best friend, and other times a cruel mistress. On Sunday after church I napped for 3 hours and felt all the better for it; refreshed, energized, and ready to kick butt and take names. Today after work I watched TV and surfed the web for three hours and have felt like a vagrant bum ever since. Immediately before my campus stroll I had come home, hung out with my neighbors, had to defend my intelligence from four hostile verbal attackers (and people call me argumentative), and then sat down on my porch chair for a bit of light reading.
I felt like garbage. It had already been a crap day, I was upset at myself for falling into the trap of the just ended jeuvenile inquisition of my idiocy, and I had litterally taken out the garbage, so it didn't take long before I started walking, book in hand and music in ear, up the hill.
It is a common escape mechanism for me, I have many. Ever since freshman year on particularly melancholy evenings (weather permitting) I crank the tunes and head to old main. I've always felt a special connection to USU's campus (one of the defining reasons that I came to school up here) and in my hours of dark, bemused reflection she has been mother, lover, and friend. I remember even in Brazil, after an especially difficult day on the mission (read: every day of my mission) I would close my eyes and imagine myself sitting in the middle of the quad looking up at the shining white A. Sometimes I saw the red and yellow fall leaves, other times the sparkling Logan snow, I was usually alone but occasionally the grass was littered with students relaxing on a warm afternoon.
Tonight, I found a bench between Washington's and Lincoln's heads and read a chapter of East of Eden. Two star-struck lovers were sitting on The A and I could hear their giggling over Thriving Ivory. Someone had placed a lawn-flamingo in the ground and every so often the wind would carry a cool spray from the sprinklers across my face.
After that I made my way around Old Main and sat beneath the american flag. Only a soft glow of city lights was visible through the trees. I read another chapter and Steinbeck's words mingled in my mind with the poetry of Maria Bethania pouring into my ears.
Before heading home I wrapped around the building one more time and passed through the TSC courtyard. I tell you, there is no better time to sit by the fountains than at 11:30 p.m. on a summer evening. The only sound is wind and the gurgling of water over stone, reflecting a hazy yellow from the dim bulbs. One last chapter while Carbon Leaf played.
With each step I was closer to home, my bed, my life, and morning. The distant cries of another day were gone, the decisions made and consequences waiting to be revealed. I stood on my front porch for a moment, not wanting to go inside. All around me were the cold faces of sleeping life. My logical mind was already regaining control; there was no reason to be outside, no reason to even be awake, I have meetings and work tomorrow--get to it.
Creeper Lagoon was playing as I turned the knob, stepped inside, and broke the spell.
"three times done and you're gone, and you're gone
you are free, you are free it's a long way home
what have we done? was it wrong, was it wrong?
was it me? can't you see? it's a long way home."