fridays are always fresh days

Maybe it's the feeling of relaxation upon exiting the almost-hood, but I find myself sleeping more, and longer, and more deeply since I moved and even the lack of being able to escape my desk for additional coffee has not been quite so needed and the blessed sun makes me want to skip class so badly, which is terrible as I'm kind of a born student. I feel so old in there among the spitball throwing and pseudointellectualizing that seems to afflict every liberal arts major from ages 19-22.

I somehow ended up getting commissioned to play music for a memorial service tomorrow, which is a little intimidating because I've never done such a thing before and don't know two of the songs offhand (ones that I associate with old Baptist churches with organs). The person who asked is a retired minister in the assisted living community around the corner from where I used to live, and his neighbor was murdered the week before Valentine's Day. I really don't know what to expect and try not to think about it too much, but want to do it justice, or something, I'm not sure.