Something is marching in

So as to not waste my day off and also neatly avoid writing my statement of purpose, I've spent about an hour teaching myself how to play the recorder. So far I've mastered Mary had a Little Lamb and am working towards When the Saints Come Marching In. All the while I'm dreaming about hoping a plane towards Reykajvik on the first leg of some Around-the-World ticket. I think it's the e-mail I got from a buddy in Dar-es-Salaam the other day combined with my boredom.

All this dreaming has gotten me thinking about places I've been before and things I've done. I'm sort of in the middle of this jarring juxtaposition between one of my loveliest memories (Sharing a few bottles of wine with some friends in a nearly bare and sundrenched apartment whose enormous windows opened onto the courtyard of a 500-year old church in Southern France) and currently sitting in my parents' darkened basement playing (quite poorly, I might add) a 20-year-old recorder I found.

I suppose I should get off my ass and do something more exciting. Luckily, I've got some plans coming up for this weekend. Woo art!