Often, after I have come home work, I am so tired I can hardly divert myself from laying in bed. Today was like that. I laid there, cowering, submerged in blankets and sheets, the mangled pillow next to me gray and blue. The light was dimming, and suddenly I was brought back to being sixteen, or was it seventeen? I lived in Auburn at the time, on the bottom floor of a house that is now in a ruins of sorts. I would often lay in that bed, hiding, a pile of books next to me. I would think about the light and daydream about crushes, probably. Tonight I was comforted by the dusk, the sign of another day passing away. What a gloomy sort I am. I had just read about Virginia and West Virginia, and was thinking about the former, especially. I thought about the horrific things that had happened there, the numerous Civil War battlegrounds, the vanished Roanoke Colony, and Nat Turner.

After I had napped, at least I think I had fallen asleep, I took a walk around the Eastside neighborhood to try to awaken myself from my stupor. I thought more about battlefields, specifically the former battlefield that my family had visited when I was quite young, and how I had been told about Civil War history the entirety of that day. I want to see it again, and I want to understand why I was so entranced by Tennessee when I was young. I wandered around the Eastside, and I thought about these things, and I listened to Steve Young, nor surprisingly.