Well, my xanga days are really over.  It's true this time--I'm going to write one last post and then delete this tomorrow or the next day (if it's possible todelete a xanga?).  I’m taking care to write this one, so I’d lovenothing more than if you read it all through.  This is my reason: for me xanga is a time waster, or at least abad distraction.  And it's a habit, eventhough I don't find in it the joy of the old days--of writing something. That was a quirk that my English papers more thansatisfy now.   

    I was thinking today that growing up is a funny thing.  You don't realize it's happeningtill later, unless it happens in radical (and maybe impulsive)bursts, as it often does for me--a realization that your world and way of thinking has been way too narrow or naive smacks you in the face and sends youspinning in a very different direction.  I'd say something like thathappened over Christmas break, but it's always happening.  Another thing,which I think is what Wordsworth lamented: the world, I suddenly realize, becomes much morenarrow.  Spaces that were the whole world and fairy land besides for avery little girl, and countries big enough to frolic in for a child, don't have even enough elbow room anymore.  In high school I could still catch some of the oldcharm, along with new kinds of charm, in the usual haunts; is it that the scales havefallen away and I see the world as it really is, or is there a reality wehave eyes for only as children (unless you're G.K. Chesterton)? 

    It’s thenatural process of growing, but sometimes when I think of it, it seems alittle sad.  It reminds me of that fable,down a few posts, where two boys are each given a wish.  One wishes to become huge so he can travel the world and see strange and faraway sights; he ends up disillusioned (andgets his head chopped off by an indignant farmer) because, to a giant who cantake the Himalayas in a few strides, the worldisn’t nearly so large or interesting anymore. The second boy asks to become very tiny, and he sets out to explore thewonders of his garden, an adventure which he hasn’t yet reached the endof.  Maybe I should leave you to find the moral of the tale.  Perhapsit means that your own backyard isn’t about to run out of marvels, if only you can become small (or humble?) enough and imaginative enough to see them. 

Still, today I couldn’t help thinking wistfully of those adventurers in old tales who sling their packs over their backs one fine day and set off “to see the world.”  I suppose I have a fancy to be a wanderer too, to visit different climes where there’s more air and room to stretch the muscles…

Well, it’s been good times, and I’m obviously not off to anywhere yet, except psychology class on Monday and the usual daily grind.    God bless!

EDIT: Ok, Kristina has convinced me not to delete it all, but to give her my password for her to change so I can nevermore post.  *shrugs*