Clinging

 The last few days have been relatively nondescript.  I’ve had a few Neurophysiology lectures (Endocrinology doesn’t begin until mid-October), and they’ve all been manageable.  I’ve spent some time keeping house - sweeping floors, taking out the trash, organizing cabinets and drawers, and the like.  Last night, I met Y and a few other people from the Salthill trip at a pub in town, just to scope out the nightlife around here.  (I found it to be moderately lively...but then, New York does set a pretty high standard in this arena.)  It was discouraging that I couldn’t spend my time developing my relationship with Y, because she had been drinking long before she arrived in town and so was in no state to talk about anything meaningful.  (I’ve long been aware, friends, that the bar scene is not for me.  If I’m going to have a drink, I’d prefer to do it with good friends, ideally in a setting that’s conducive to solid conversation and growth.)

Moving to the rhythm

Time to go home!

When I rolled over in bed this morning, groping around on my nightstand so I could hit "snooze" on my cell phone alarm, this was the first thought that crossed my mind.  And then I realized - again - that until December, I’m here.  For the next fifteen weeks, I’m here, and so much that is important to me…is not.  In the grand scheme of things, four months isn't a very long time; that's certainly true.  But, you see: Rishi isn’t here.  My friends aren’t here (except for Teresa, of course, but there are other people, obviously.)  
My church isn’t here.  Union isn’t here.  My guitar isn’t here.