After a week of staring at a computer screen, of making decisions whether I should carry one textbook home or another, deciding what size water bottle would make most sense to buy, and trudging through the snow and cold I am no longer the sea child I was a mere week ago. The hallows are back under my eyes and my mouth is once again set in determination. No longer serene, no longer craddled in the warmth of the sun, no longer with fingers stretched out, reaching to embrace life. And some wonder why I am unhappy.
But it's not all bad. At least I know who can be sued under the Charter and what injuries would be considered too remote to hold an individual liable for damages. It may not sound like much but if I have to live this modern, conventional life I'd rather be one of the ones possessing power and money...even without the smell of ocean in my hair.
And who knows? Maybe when I'm 60 I'll win the Pulitzer Prize. And maybe when I'm 65 I'll still be happiest when at the edge of the ocean; my hips slowly swinging, my arms raised high, spanish music echoing in the air. Because this internal fire burning within shouldn't -- couldn't !-- burn out so quickly.