Some Old Fashioned Blogging

I'm sitting in the computer lab of Sandoz hall. I've been alone at my former place of residence for an hour now. As I wander around the paths and hallways memories come alive.

I can't help wonder what my life would have been like had I never lived in Able. I can't help but be amazed by how vivid my memories are from this building. I can't help but feel nostalgic for a time long gone.

I walked across the bridge where I sat in shock, blankly smoking a cigarette the night I found out Robert killed himself. I never forget the feeling of sitting there in the cold silence of that November night, trying to grasp the concept of someone I once knew so well inserting a gun into his mouth and pulling the trigger.

Old faces and names come back. Cowboy, Tim Smith, Carlin Mackey, Kieth Westra and of course, Maggie Rife. Nobody knows how distinct these personalities are in my mind, even I had forgotten, but being around this monument to my past, they keep popping up.

It was the thrill of youthful passion mixed with excitment of something new. The oppertunity to be whoever I wanted, the chance to break the bonds and roles I was expected to fill in high school. When the idea of being able to step outside and smoke was such a novelty that I couldn't stop doing it.

I miss many things from those days, not because they were exciting or new or revolutionary, but because they were mine. My experiances that only I could fatham. I miss all night coffee binges and my giant ball of tape. Listening to "Little Green Bag" and dancing awkwardly to celebrate my victory over Spanish 101. I miss when I ran this blog like a weekly colloumn and the way I felt when I could wander around down town with my thirty-dollar digital camera.

Those days are gone now