The art of coming home...
Hello friendly friends, I have returned to my humble Rockridge Road abode (yes I meant for that to rhyme) just over 2 weeks ago and am feeling a little nostalgic for the days of old. Even if camp life drove me mental from time to time; the easy mundane bubble was nice. It was safe and warm and I didn't have to think about making food or doing laundry (thanks Debbie!) Now I feel like I've been thrust forth into this vast expanse of adulthood once again and all I want is to crawl back into my rock-hard sleeping-bag-covered mattress of room 3-one-one and sleep until I'm awoken by Q-Rock at precisely 8 a.m. every morning. But alas; that cannot be and it is time to move on. Which is easier said that done. I have been tirelessly looking for work and am feeling a little discouraged. But light is on the horizon and I know the Lord knows what he's doing. A song hit me really hard the other day and I kind of lost it (quelle surprise I know) the lyrics to the bridge