I shouldn’t be writing this article. I have way too much to do. Way, way too much to do. But, I refuse to say that I’m busy because, of course, everyone is busy. I’ve been cutting back, though.
Aroostook County might be my favorite place ever...and I’ve been to New Mexico. Aroostook County is Maine’s largest county. People often refer to it simply as “The County,” and it is also the largest county east of Minnesota.
On Friday, Nov. 16, someone wrote something offensive and bewildering on the door to my room, Foss 341, the suite at the end of the hall. I want an apology, in person, to both me and my roommates. Also, I want to shame you publicly.
What am I thankful for? Well, since they let me blather on and on in this distinguished periodical, I’ll tell you.
I was really bitter this weekend at the Bicentennial Ball. I shouldn’t have been, but I was in a bad mood: surly, bordering on ornery; self-pity bordering on contempt
Senior year is hard. I’m drowning in the miasma of my own mind.
Ok, so here it is: I don’t believe in truth, I don’t believe in facts and I don’t believe in objectivity.
But, the thrill of the hunt was just not in me. What I really cared about was that sense of place, and, as this would not put deer meat in our freezer, it was a ponderance my father was less interested in discussing than teaching me to differentiate from the various rifles, handguns and crossbows we kept locked in our gun cabinet.