As of Yet the Mice go Un-named

Tonight was a long night of Catch Phrase, cheesecake, and Lost--a long, full night at a house up the hill. 

Tomorrow promises to be equally pleasing. Rather than spend the afternoon Lesson Planning for the last day before Spring Break, I'm traipsing down the hill with a gang of new friends to watch a "concert" in Fresno (which means, a friend of my "new friend" Charles is playing at some obscure location so he's roped me, and Tyler Hall--an old friend! from Santa Clarita--and a couple others into escaping off the Bubble). Two nights in a row not spent huddled in the Cave? Yes, please. 

Last night we got the television working--FINALLY, after months of frustrated visitors--and watched Bourne Supremacy. It was the first movie I've watched since my arrival in January. The last movie I saw up here was Miss Potter. (I cried. Alone. In the Cave.)

So for anybody who is interested: we FIXED the television set and have a full-working theatre system on the main floor. 

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Spring Break is two days away. My students have a countdown till the end of school and I was shocked and horrified to hear them announce that the days' count is somewhere in the thirties. 

I only get to do this once, my heart whispered.

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I also spent a lot of time today contemplating grad school, and the implications of donating two years of my life to living in the San Francisco area, studying poetry and going to underground readings in obscure coffee shops throughout the city while joining the bohemians in pursuit of Freedom, Beauty, Truth, and Love.

In another life, I lived in France and was a voice of the Bohemian Revolution.

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The subject of "Purpose and Passion" came up in tonight's interactions. I like obscure, feeling-type purposes. Consequence of being an artist? Am I am artist? Not quite.

But there is an unfinished painting in a makeshift easel beside me. 

Freedom, Beauty, Truth, and Love.

I suppose if I spend my life in pursuit of these four things, it covers the span of nearly every person's passion--of every Good Purpose, perhaps.

I'll start with the journey of a Russian Pilgrim, read beneath the warm stare of an icon, in the shadow of a Cave too big for my size and too small for my most secret dreams.