Greetings from Bloomington. As much as I would’ve loved to stay and play in Crawfordsville, I decided that a trip home might be in order. I know I know, there’s lots to do in the Wal-mart parking lot after midnight, and all of the major cable television networks have been restored to Martindale, and I’ve yet to catch one of the trophy squirrels parading about campus grounds, but I’ll just have to save those adventures for next weekend. But, before I get to the joys of my hometown, allow me to recap the week spent at the ‘bash.
I have withdrawn from drawing, which saddens me, but it does free up my Tuesdays and Thursdays. I have no classes on these days, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to walk around in my underwear until 3 pm (but it also doesn’t rule that possibility, which is nice, because as we’ve previously discussed, pants are so overrated). No no, now I have the freedom to labor away at long reading assignments, practice my typing skills, and get back into a stretching routine. Coach Hammer, if you’re reading this, I just want you to know that even though I made fun of your stretching regimen, I really enjoyed it. I don’t know how to phrase it, but I need a grizzly voiced bearded man yelling at me while I loosen my groin back in my life–let’s talk some time. If the stars are in my favor, and I just so happen to manage my time correctly, I might even be able to venture into the realm of supernatural exploration this semester.
I’ve heard townie folk tales warning about an old house out in the fields, abandoned for reasons long forgotten. Some Montgomery County residents warn that it was the house of a former Wabash biology professor from the 1800’s. After the scientific community rejected his findings, he was hard at work in the laboratory when an unforeseen chemical reaction occurred. Hazardous gas inhaled through his grey-whiskered nostrils traveled all the way up to the professor’s cerebral cortex, and he lost consciousness. By the time the janitor arrived in the morning, the professor had escaped through a window thirty feet high. But, he left behind chalk-board scribblings of remarkable breakthroughs in cell mutation, inexplicable amounts of human hair, and the unsolvable mystery of what went wrong and why didn’t he use the door? The legend warns that even though the man vanished, something still lurks around in his old decrepit house…
I hope to investigate, and live to blog the tale.