Right now I am boldly, blindly, blissfully doing the very last thing in the world that I should be: sitting in a carrol on the first floor of Clemons Library, with 25 pages waiting to be written by Friday on the theological controversies of Bush v. Schiavo, drafting this post. But when I ran home this afternoon for a quick bite to eat between classes and saw Matt's lament about his recent lack of writing, my brain started shouting "ME TOO, ME TOO!" and I haven't convinced it to shut up all day. Plus if I don't write something now, I'll lose another month, which throws the Archives all out of whack. As you can see, I've really got no choice.

Actually, I share Matt's experience of having found (the time for) writing easier in college than afterward, although I can't point to the pressures (or productivity) of research to account for the change. I'm only a few months out of college, living in the same town and taking classes that look very much like the ones I had as an undergraduate. But somehow the words come less freely nowadays. My language is bulkier and more elusive.

One might think that this absence of creative, unassigned writing projects would mean that I'm more on top of my schoolwork. Unfortunately, I'm afraid the opposite is happening--I'm further behind than ever at this point in the semester and in need of several small miracles (in addition to a few more all-nighters) just to make it through. I am substitute teaching quite a bit more than last year, and the budget crisis at church has made job security a little rocky through the fall--I suppose that may account for some of this.

Just getting older and softer and lazier may account for more of the problem. But I think the biggest struggle this semester has been that I'm (finally) ready to be out of Charlottesville. Over the past couple years I've had all kinds of trouble trying to understand all my friends who've felt trapped here and wanted desperately to get away. I'm not quite to that point yet (I still have a great job that I'll miss dearly and wonderful friends and housemates who make the journey light), but I've learned so much during my time in Charlottesville--about the world, about relationships, and about myself and my faith--and now that that learning seems to be slowing down somewhat, heading off to discover a new world is increasingly attractive.

Given the crazy changes that are coming soon whether or not I'm ready for them, this is probably the healthiest mindset I could have right now. Unfortunately, it hasn't done enough to expedite seminary application or wedding planning, and it certainly isn't helping with the academic tasks presently at hand. Some good things are happening, though. Two weeks ago my aunt, uncle, and cousins came up for the football game against Virginia Tech. Although the game was one of the larger disasters of the new century, the whole weekend was a wonderful opportunity for Brian and me to share hospitality, fellowship and love with some dear folks we don't get to see as often as we'd like. I managed to score additional tickets for April and her dad at the last minute (without getting mugged!), my folks came up for the day, and the lot of us had a jolly time during dinner at the Wild Wing Cafe on W. Main Street.

Thanksgiving was also a gluttonous good time. April and I canvassed most of the commonwealth, sampled the finest turkey and sweet potatoes this side of Plymouth, and learned a lot about the pressure and joy of becoming one. I also held a puking baby, talked church politics with a wise saint, and oversaw the demise of my fantasy football team, but those are stories for another day.

The best development of all is that it's Advent. This means beautiful greens in church, our youth group's seasonal retreat to Washington, DC, and the return of egg nog and holiday candy. While we don't yet have a Christmas tree like the ladies in Atlanta, the Hinton House too is starting to look and feel a little more festive each day, with wreath, candles, and music already in place. And all the work that's still got to be done? Advent's a time when you're supposed to wait expectantly for shouts of good news to pierce the darkness. This year, I'll just have to wait quickly.

Shalom!