It is terribly difficult to go to bed lately. I am not sure why. There really is no reason for it. I love my bed. It's comfy. I don't mind sleeping. But... there always seems to be something better to do. Even if it's just posting here.
I have been making some new friends lately, and enjoying their company. It has been a great joy to go back and forth about all things Scriptural, and other things too.
I think I just love people too much! I don't know how much is too much... but if there ever was a too much, I think I hit it. I love to hear their stories, I love to hear their thoughts, I love to know all about them.
Some people more than others, though, which is bad.
I love it when I can have a really great conversation with someone that I don't feel like 1.) I have to feed with conversational fuel all alone, and 2.) I am just sitting and listening the whole time with a couple verbal cues.
I never realized there was such an art to conversation. I am farrrr from a master at it, but I do find people entertaining and stimulating, and I grow so much by interacting with others.
My conversations are always full of anecdotes from other conversations with people or of things that I have read.
I was thinking about that very thing today, about books. (GAH, I have too many loves and passions, I feel tossed about like Anne Shirley with her tempestuous emotions and brash declarations of devotion to objects and ideas.) I was thinking a line from one of my favorite movies, "You've Got Mail," when Meg Ryan's character, Kathleen, writes in an email to her internet friend, "So often what I see reminds me of something I read, when.. shouldn't it be the other way around?" I wonder sometimes if that is a problem for me. But, then sometimes, I wouldn't have it any other way. As long as I am reading and experiencing things, I think it doesn't matter. B'sides. I'm happy.

I have acquired a strange habit lately. And I feel... juvenile for it... When I am walking around campus, if I see a fuzzy caterpillar creeping across the walkway, I always stoop and pick it up, and gently set it safely among the grass toward which it was heading. This way he is not smushed under the foot of some other individual. I did this once the other day, only to turn around and notice that I was on the receiving end of many curious stares. Is this SO unusual? Does anyone else do this?

Or am I certifiably insane?

~Sarah~