I'm bleeding. I have new bruises. I'm exhausted. I hurt. I'm covered in dirt and the sweat of both myself and mine enemies. And I feel better in this moment than I have since I arrived one month ago. One word: football. I had a very interesting moment while sitting out after the game tonight. Try listening to Debussy's Claire de Lune and watching a live game and tell me what you feel. Football is but a dance--the passion is so real, the moments so alive. Men write their stories in blood, sweat, and tears, tearing down those that oppose them until the whistle sounds and they walk off the field as friends to fight a different sort of battle. That moment took my breath away and awakened something within me that I cannot explain.
It is late, 2:45AM (11PM is the time I began to write this post) and I have class tomorrow and must wake at 7:30. Yet here I sit, sacrificing my time for those of you who do read this. I finished my homework to the best of my ability almost an hour ago, but my devotion to this blog won out over sleep. Now, however, I must bid you goodnight. I'm looking forward to waking in the morning with that familiar ache of an evening of fighting it out on the field. Play hard or go home.
Time for some Z's!
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