Last night I outlined a to-do list for the following day then turned off the light contemplating the strange tide of emotions I would entertain while faring the second batch of exchange students well. Irony deceived me as I slept through the buzz of my alarm clock set for eight o'clock but a startling dream of completely missing what I was required to do while I was slumbering roused me, catapaulted me, and propelled me out the door and on the way to a friend's by eight fifteen. The only buffer between my property and those who live along the adjoining road is an overgrown patch of vines and dense groundcover, which I parted then walked away hurriedly to break my recent streak of untardiness. Shortly thereafter, I arrived at the newly renovated metropolitan airport. The architecture has an uncanny semblance to graeco-roman style; I continually looked at the floral centerpieces and plantings for a miniature Venus de Milo. Much more to my fascination and heartfelt regret was witnessing the arrival of thirty freshmen dragging suitcases and bookbags to check-in and clinging to their parents before bidding adieu and covering their sadness with a pitiful bon voyage then boarding the plane accross the ocean to le beau pays without a single notion of how the upcoming three weeks will alter their perspective of self, culture, and the entire world. One voyageur, the little sister of my accomplice in art, had passed through security and was waving goodbye the minute her mom tapped me on the shoulder and invited me to pick up her other daughter from governors school in greenville so we left for a small day trip with the secretive intention of surprise! En route, a myriad conversation harbored on both extremes of the spectrum- opinions of the war on terrrorism to a preference for root beer poured only over crushed ice. Being able to talk intelligently and comfortably with an adult was a first. I am paranoid that one day the adult world will confront me and accuse me of being opinionated, Really, I have made strides in conciously stopping myself from talking down to people even though I never intentionally meant to degrade them. I don't want to change the basic pillars of belief I have accepted and at which I have arrived after examining what I see as the most logical or as the case may be inexplicable, moreover I cannot alter my past experience so why saturate myself in self conciousness to the point of mental exhaustion when I could just as happily yet not so recklessly savor the burgeoning of my intelligence ignorant of how others perceive me? This would hold true if I intended to be a lifelong college rat but I have lofty ambitions to enter a dog eat dog environment avec force. Regrouping, a mere hour after leaving the airport I greeted a puzzled-looking Whitney who was pushing a trolley of dorm knick knacks from the residence hall, which I would later learn as she gave me the grand tour is commonly called the "Tuscan Villa." At first, I felt out of place among the artistic elite but soon was welcomed by Katie and Stacey who introduced me to a few male heterosexual visual artists. Notice the word few. Maria squealed when she saw me, whether out of fright or mere etonement I will never know but I warranted she was ecstatic as she had just returned from commencement practice, signfying the final chapter in her governors school career. The entire elevator ascension to the dorm room included snippity but oh so sytlized french conversations with Katie who I now I am seriously concerned over due to her frail frame... she began a vegan diet (if i was editing this entry, I would correct... vegan consumption is a lifestyle change). Immediately upon this revelation I inquired as to an example of her daily meals and received this rabbit food reply: lettuce, tomatoes, and carrots. After Whitney managed to convert every limb of my body into coatrack branches, caddy prongs, and bag clinks I waddled through the reception office back to the car while she signed out until her return in late August. Her mom became frazzled over her daughters lost sense of time and nudged she and I into cutting the in-depth tour to a nutshell version, which she accomplished beautifully. All of the classrooms were empty because classes ended the Tuesday before; the bare skeleton of creativity left exposed. Exiting the painting room, still overtaken by the smell of turpentine, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I have changed, a lot in more ways than one, in more degrees than one, in more experiences than one. I hope I never stay the same, how boring life would be....