Fri-i-day
There's a particular quality to that special brand of liberation you get after handing in an essay. It makes you pedal faster, pedal harder, describe long lazy sine curves down a slope with your bicycle. It makes you roll in grass, clamber up on dead tree trunks coiled like dragons, lock your eyes on a picture of pure sky framed by the grass blades, and foolishly wade through stinging nettles. From this, I've drawn two conclusions: dock leaves are useless placebos for the gullible, and puffing on dandelions while facing the wind is rather like being in a little starfield, and should be done whenever the opportunity arises.
Also that the sky is big. Big. And try as I might, I cannot take in the horizons with one eyeful.
Big futures, big unknowns. Basically, big bigness, in a world well suited to the purpose.
I should add that in the past two days I have espied two of the worst commercial puns I've heard in a while, which I shall share here for your esteemed perusal:
On a fast food joint's signboard: Everyday is Friday at Fryday's.
On a billboard advertising conditioner: If your hair's dyed, this is heaven.
And Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is the most goddamned amazing movie. That is all.