My darling little sister, who goes to school at the University of Wisconsin Madison, got to see President Obama speak today.
As in, after the debates last night, he and his suited minions boarded a plane and flew to Wisconsin so that my sister could wait in line for eight hours and then stand mere feet from him as he delivered a speech.
As in, love you Amy, but you weren’t the one who voted for him in 2008 (I’m disregarding the fact that you were at the time fifteen).
Why doesn’t Obama come to Morris?
Probably because it’s in the middle of Nowhere Western Minnesota, and because we have 1800 students, as opposed to 43,000.
It is a magical, mystical day here in 6B. It’s my sister’s birthday, for one thing. She’s nineteen, but surprisingly not much of a hooligan. There’s always time for that, though.
But the legend continues even further because, my friends, I am hard at work on my story. It’s the same idea I raved about last week, and it’s taken off just as I hoped it would. I’ve written a page and a half today, and rewrote the entire beginning (two pages) last night. Doesn’t sound like much, I know, but trust me when I say these are monumental accomplishments. I think I’ve finally resigned myself to the fact that I can (and must) sit down for a time every day and force myself to write. Once I get going, the writing is as fun as it ever was. Do I ever love to write. It’s the sitting down to do so that is difficult.
Later there’s homemade potato soup (everybody pray) and Play In A Day (not participating; just watching this year).