theres nothing like the gentle hum of a well-running human...

The past two days have jumpstarted my life into a routine, and so far it is running smoothly with very few stalls in my internal engine. After discovering the swansea bay and the most unique portions of the city, I realize how deeply fascinating looking history in the face is--over sitting through history classes. Speaking of history class, I had my first one yesterday. It is very much like classes in America. My teacher as of right now is intriguing to listen to, even though his content is not exactly inspiring. After class, I went to philosophy, but quickly realized how basic it is and how I have already had almost the same class but at UT. Also it is a level one class and will not be able to pass as the upper-level philosophy I still need to take at UT. So I decided to drop it and be down to 12 hours. That's all right, though--I will probably take a class or two at UT this summer when I get home if i can. It will mean I have more time to spend getting involved in clubs here (they have an ultimate frisbee club and a rock-climbing club-why oh why didn't I bring my shoes?..oh yes, no room) and sight seeing and getting to know people and working really hard at the classes in which I'm currently enrolled. Anyway, after that class, I went home, and Lindsey and I went on our city excursion as well as to the bay for sunset to take pictures. I almost cried when I arrived at the beach. It was the first time my heart warmed and I felt a little more at home.




I couldnt feel my nose or fingers the entire time we frolicked about in the wet sand (like the dogs in this picture)^ but, like a little kid who can't be pulled away from the first snow of the winter, despite red fingers and ears, I didn't have any desire to catch our bus and go home. I felt like I could breathe and like I had nothing to worry about while I was there. Lindsey and I did finally leave, after searching for sand for her missing lens cap to her camera, which she probably dropped in her frenzied excitement. We went home and made dinner together, and I went to bed, exhausted. Today I didn't wake up until 1:30-sleeping straight through-and raced to the class, which has become my favorite. it's a creative writing short story class, and my teacher is glorious. She knows what she's talking about, and she's more interested in discussion than lecturing. She appreciates everyone's responses and doesn't see any of them as right or wrong. The beauty of the short story is that it's often very subject to one's own interpretation. We get to write our own stories periodically throughout the term. I went home after class and sat next to a man pushing his baby in a stroller on the bus. The baby was wrapped in a tiny sleeping bag, and I thought how nice it would be to travel around Swansea snuggled in a sleeping bag in a stroller for a day. But only for a day.