As I begin to gather my thoughts, my manner’s quite affable. A sort of euphoria remains, keeping one alert and restless, with an alacrity to rise early, like the first day of class. How could I be so happy at a time like this? The hour aside, with each day passing, the passion grows assiduous. I am ever engaged in tomes, strategy to employment, all centering on an acquisitive desire for imagery. Appetencies, awfully distracting ones like late night gaming or lame procrastination, are weakening in the face of an earnest, monk-like manner to create. Habits form slowly, and as such I appreciate the impetus to isolation. I’m no ascetic, but Thoreau certainly takes a special tone, early morns like these.
