School has started again and it's time for basketball games and 8 am classes. We're all back to the routine of passing eachother on the green or taking quizzes without properly reviewing the information. It's getting colder outside, finally. I pack my lunches so that I don't have to eat pollo tropical with the rest of the university. A turkey sandwhich with mustard on wheat bread, an apple, a granola bar, a jello cup, and a diet coke. I space it out so that lunch basically takes up three hours of individual delights, each time pulling something new out of that plastic publix bag. I can't say I don't enjoy it. There's something about a packed lunch that reminds me of elementary school when my mom would write a note on a huge paper "K" she had bought just for me. It was before Nancy could even talk (she was so dumb then, couldn't order for herself in a restaurant, couldn't cheer for the noles, you know- real dumb.) and I was the big sister in a three person family. It was Methodist School center with Drew Taylor and Brent Loman and Erin Eppely. Every year we put on a Christmas play and the only one I remember was when we were all birds that were there to welcome the baby Jesus. I was the flamingo. Apparently I had flown all the way from somewhere exotic to witness the birth of the savior. It's amazing the animal instincts on those things. If we were to know eachother then, I'm sure we would be friends. Flamingos are a very affable creatures.
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