I'm getting pretty tired of classes.  On most days, nothing too special happens.  I usually go from class to class to reading books to writing papers to sleeping.  All the days blend together.  I wanted something beautiful today, but I couldn't quite find it.  Today was a day in which I wanted to tell, and play a role in, a story that's meaningful, but I couldn't find the time before my 5 hour class that took me right to bedtime.

I'm telling myself that it will get better, and I know it will.  In just two weeks I'll be doing something meaningful––building houses and playing with children and visiting homes.  Then the stories will begin, beautiful and terrible, about laughter and sweat and AIDS and poverty and hope.