So I Reached Out To Kanye And Brought You All My Dreams

An angel lost its wings this past Friday. At the same time, another angel got theirs. I had a dream and had done an excellent job making that dream a reality. You see, I wanted to live my life so that I never, ever, mowed a lawn. Ever. I made it through my teenage years and my mission having successfully dodged numerous "opportunities" to mow a lawn. I can't begin to tell you how close things got. At least once, I was mere steps away from grasping the handles and laying waste to all things over 2" tall, only to be reprieved.

Last Friday, it all came to an abrupt end. I was working on a rental home my dad owns, and had spent the better part of the morning scraping both sides of some 30 panes of glass with a razor blade. It sounds about as much fun as it is, but unfortunately, nothing else was left for me to do besides mowing the lawn. Reluctantly, I grasped the handle I had spent the last 26 years of my life avoiding. (For the record, I did know how to both start and use the mower. It did take me a while to realize how to use the clutch, but nevertheless, I got the job done.)

And like that an angel fell. However, the celestial balance was restored almost immediately.

Even though I had never mowed a lawn, I knew that there was a technique used to optimized efficiency and aesthetics. I also knew that I didn't know it. But Mike does. I sent him a text asking him what pattern(s) I should run. I get back a series of ha ha ha's and then a phone call explaining to frame the yard a couple times than go across the middle with a snake pattern.

And an angel is born. You see, Mike had a dream that I would one day mow a lawn. Actually, he has a dream that I'll spend my life doing every manual labor job imaginable. Granted, in his dream I'm successful and still able to hold season tickets to the local baseball team, but manual labor it is. Let's just say, he might win small battles, but the war is mine.

Also, to bring finality to things, Florida State said no, so I'll be heading down to St. Martin's in the caribbean for medical school. I know, it will be rough spending the next two years or so in a tropical paradise, but I will have to manage. The school is called American University of the Caribbean, or AUC. It's on a rock 36 square miles big. That's like Provo and Orem. Maybe some Lindon thrown in. I'm pretty psyched about it to be honest. It's almost like a second mission, only I don't have to wear a tie, can call home when I want, and don't have to worry about a companion. Ok, so maybe it's nothing like a mission. Forget you. I think it is.

Word.