What do you do when you see a duck?

Two days. Less than forty-eight hours and I'll be home. I can make it. I really can.

I can't figure out my schedule for next year. Either I end up with five credits of classes (not including lessons) second semester (not an option), or I have to take a class that I really really don't want to first semester (mostly because it would give me one too many really hard classes, but also because I don't like the professor). Or, I could drop my music capstone class (which I don't really need, anyway, 'cause I take the religion one). Or, I could sign up as if I were not going to take the music capstone, study my bum off over the summer, and CLEP out of my Natural Science requirement.

You know you're in Iowa when the subject of discussion on you rmorning radio station (that would be, the hip cool rock station) is fish. And not "yeah, my parents sent me to camp for inner city kids" fish. Like, the DJ started a story with, "Oh man! One time my buddy and I were out fishing bass..." Yup. Iowa.
You also know you're in Iowa when it's okay for the caf to put zucchini in the stir-fry, and if you complain about it, you either get yelled at for calling it squash when it's obviously zucchini, and then the people around you have an in-depth conversation about whether or not it actually is all zucchini, or if some of it is summer squash or yellow zucchini or just yellow zucchini. Yup. Iowa. 

Edward Elgar is my antidrug. Actually, I think it is more accurate to say that he's my drug. 'Cause listening to him acutally does release endorphins in a manner quite medically similar to taking narcotics. Not that I would know from experience. Just from being told by medical research and stuff.

Forty-eight hours. I can do it.