Cumulonimbus and the Birth of a Filly.

It's 2:00 A.M. and I'm refusing to pack.

Maybe my trouble is that I've refused to process anything past Wendesday the 20th for the last three or four weeks. Consequently, my last final occurred eight hours ago and I am thus at a complete loss. I understand my clothing isn't going to jump into suitcases and my lamps and notebooks aren't going to arrange themselves according to their size, filling tupperware containers just so... but I'm sitting here, listening to Drew Gordon plunk a geniusly crafted tune out on the piano, and don't particularly feel inclined to move. A terrible situation I've found myself in.

I'm not paralyzed in fear of my trip, or in fear of moving back to St. Cloud for two weeks. But perhaps, for the first time, the reality of my leaving is settling in. I've been saying "goodbye! Have a good semester! I won't be here!" with excitement endlessly. I never really know when the last encounter with a friend will be. Sometimes they show up less than 24 hours later and I have to say goodbye all over again. I'm always guessing.

However, tonight was just slightly different. It's my last night in Minneapolis for an extended period of time, and my last night with the proximity of many I care about. It's just a little more real than it's been before. I suppose in my logical, relational sort of brain I'll come to the conclusion that not packing isn't going to make the morning come any more slowly. But part of me wants it to. Yet I know it will all be here, waiting, when I get back to the states. And I'll get a glimpse of the city lights on the 4th of January when I drive to the airport at 4:00am.

Drew Gordon is still playing.. but it's now his song called "The Birth of a Filly," and I can't help but remember his apparent mantra as the eighth notes dance on top of his swinging 3/4 measures. For those who have never heard of him, Drew was an accompanist in the dance program and was dearly loved. He passed away early this past fall, and the Barbara Barker Center for Dance will always resonate with his quirky charms, enthused rhythms and endless, genuine love. He was a man of passions: never allowing the hurt of the world to reflect his nature and attention for the individual. I guess his mentality, subconciously, somehow has supported my desire to travel and do something that will make a direct impact. Because in so many senses, that was what he was about too. It's good to know someone else shares my passion for people. However, I am going for five months. Drew was "going" his entire life.

So maybe going is good. Not that I ever thought it wasn't. And maybe I'll start packing. After all, it is now closer to 2:30 than when I started and the clock will keep on keepin' time.