ONCE MORE UNTO THE BREACH, DEAR FRIENDS

Today was the first day of class.

I had Greek III. I was the only person in the class. Colin will be joining me on Friday. Chapel was really great. We finally have a campus pastor again. For this, I am grateful. Finally, a consistent voice. After chapel was my Church History class. Again, Dr. Shaw. One of my fondest mentors. I am in that class with Ryan and Colin. I am going to enjoy that class very much.

A few days ago I went to dinner at Chili's. While there, I filled out an application. Five minutes later I was interviewed. Two minutes after that, I was hired. Thirty minutes later, I was working. Five hours later, I was off work. By the way, I work at Chili's now. I wash dishes. The money is good.

Looks like I'm growing up. I suppose it was inevitable. I'm staying up on all my homework and studying. I'm feeling really good about everything.

I am grateful for my friend Danielle. She goes to NSU now. We talk a few times a week. It's a nice getaway from the stress here. She's one of the best friends I've had over the years. We've been through much. I am lucky to know her.

I guess I should go, I have an assignment to work on. Go me. I just got through cleaning the apartment. Cleaning makes me happy. Sometimes.

Oh yeah, I cut my hair and beard. Sorry everyone.

Here's one of my favorite pieces of Shakespeare. It's from Henry V, Act III, Scene I.

"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'"