Waking Up Early is Good For Me

It's fall again. Didn't we just do this?
On the one hand there is the sameness of seasons, fall coming at the same time it does every year; on the other hand, there has never been this fall before, so I cannot tell if it is just redundancy or an old tale re-told. What I know of fall makes me lean towards the latter.

This morning I emerged from my dorm and headed to the gym, expecting the sticky, cloying humidity that has greeted me for the past few weeks. To my delight, I was greeted rather by a cool stillness, the first herald of winter. Light pollution reflected off the low-hung clouds, making it hard to see dawn (the days are shorter. Perhaps that should be the first herald of winter). I thought about running on the track, but decided against it. I didn't want to ruin my perception of a good morning by working out in it. I went inside.
Coming out forty-five minutes later I saw no trace of the overcast dark that had accompanied me there. In the five minutes back to the dorm the sun rose in a clear sky and waved a distant hello to the baseball stadium. The athletes and dance team were piling in for their morning training (I can't say I'm sorry I missed them. There's nothing like tiny girls and massive guys working out next to you, casting surreptitious glances at your heart rate or distance or rate of calorie-burninating, to make life really worthwhile) and a few cars were snoring into the parking lot.
I enjoyed the walk back to my dorm more than usual, because I spent half of the time feeling self-righteous for having worked out and the other half exulting in the approaching Time of Sweaters.

We shall see if this coolness lasts, if the temperatures keep inching down. It could be a trick.

Four-Letter Words

I had about three unnecessary paragraphs here. I cut them all and am subsequently proud of myself.
Yesterday, was the annual ORU Worship chapel, where the Worship department (note: those words juxtaposed look a bit off to me...) takes over the service, talks about auditions, tours, etc. Souls a'Fire had the last twenty minutes or so, and I led a hymn at the end of our set. The other two songs we did were energetic praise songs, so my song was pretty much it for worship. I sang "All Hail the Power if Jesus' Name" without making the dreaded mistake on the line "let angels prostrate fall," I was on pitch, and most importantly, the Lord anointed it.
My 2.30 class on Mondays and Wednesdays is Honors Shakespeare with Dr. E. The English department is home to some of the more eccentric ORU professors. Dr. E is the chair. (The chair of the department. He's not actually a chair.)
As I stood outside the class I felt pretty good. The day was going well. Dr. E came downstairs and approached me as we waited for the 1.20 class to vacate the room.
"Were you singing with Souls a'Fire?" quoth he. What he actually said sounded more like "Soulish Choir," but I let it go.
I nodded. "Yes," I said, so as to affirm the nod.
Dr. E's face scrunched. I am sorry, but there is no other word for it. It scrunched, and after a brief pause he looked at me and said in a meditative tone, "Y'know, they used to be really good-- used to play good music."
I followed him into the room, after hoisting my jaw off the floor and slinging it over my shoulder. Sundry classmates shot me amused and puzzled glances.
In class we wandered to one of Dr. E's favorite topics-- that of cultivating a Christian aesthetic. On the way he dropped the gem that the chapel music had been nothing more than "cacophony."
Here are all the four letter words that I took away from the class in my head:
Used
To Be (two words, four letters. Gimme a break.)
Good

also:
Mean
Rude
WHAT????

I can understand that gospel is not the most appreciated genre among the older professors. I get that. But really.


THEN (it gets better) I went to a meeting for my department. I sat between two friends in the fourth row and related my tale of woe. Enter Mrs. G, one of my history professors, who has always liked me, mostly because I like getting sidetracked in class as much as she.
"I saw you up there today," said Mrs. G. "You looked really good."
Then, over the rows of people, "I hated the music, I really hated it, but you looked good."
And my nerdtopia, so carefully structured around the approval of all, and most of all professors, came splintering to pieces.
Granted these were the only two detractors in a crowd of very supportive friends. But they're my teachers. My teachers! Somehow I thought they would be supportive.
More four-letter words:
Hate
WHAT???

Do not misread, friends. I am not destroyed by this. It's kinda funny in a sense. It took me three hours to think of the word I wanted for Dr. E ("rude") and I had no idea how to react to Mrs. G.

Now I am sleepy, but I thought this was a blog-worthy experience.

Streak

Blog, you and I
Are alone on this superhighway.

Solution

I get morbid when I'm Really Tired.
I noticed this habit of mine some time ago, generally when I'd think about the conversations from the night before and realize they'd devolved into a sink of introspection and analyzation.
(Note: if you think you're being too introspective, you're probably right.)
So I picked up on this tendency of mine.
A long time ago.
And realizing it never did me much good, since all I did with the realization was to warn my Good Friends During those Really Tired Times: "Hey guys, I'm not really myself when I'm this tired..."
Except guess what. The other night no one was around to say that to.
So I went to sleep early.
And y'know, I'm brilliant. Sleep works wonders.