The History of Love

I have one more official day of classes, then next week is finals. Finally. It's somewhat ridiculous how much my hands shake these days in anticipation. I only get a week. But a week is a week, even if it's only one.
One week without thinking the thoughts other people want you to think. One week without struggling to wake up early enough just to have coffee. One week with French just for the sake of French. One week with late mornings and 1 Peter and watercolors. One week. Just one.
One week is enough though.

"ONE THING I AM NEVER GOING TO DO WHEN I GROW UP
Is fall in love, drop out of college, learn to subsist on water and air, have a species named after me, and ruin my life."
I've said that constantly this quarter. Because there are mornings, like yesterday, when I wake up to the Avett Brothers' "If It's The Beaches" and then I doubt myself. I sit on my blankets all shoved into the corner against my metal bed-frame and my hair is pressed against my jaw and my eyes are half open and I think, what am I doing? And I really honestly can't answer that question at five in the morning before tea. So I almost go back to bed. I almost lay down and give up. I almost fool myself into believing that this is stupid and pointless and worthless. I almost decide to change my life before the sun is even up. But instead I breathe slowly, and then I get out of bed.
I watch for the sun.
I brew tea or coffee.
I read Hosea.
I wake up.
And I wake.
Because it is only when I am awake that I understand why I'm doing this. Only then does it all make sense and has a purpose and I believe in it.

But I will admit to you, in the earliest hours of my mornings, I don't know what I'm doing.
It's only because of Nicole Krauss that I step out of bed.

My life is so good these days. I have found the balance. The place between history homework I hate and the color of a wall I've never seen on my paint palette.