So my best friend since third grade is in town, and we are staying up late, eating junk food and playing video games. Mostly it's the same as it ever was, except for the single Heineken he temperately swallows as we sit down to watch Doctor Zhivago at 3:30 AM. I don't think I've ever seen anyone drink just one beer before. He's always been a temperate sort of person. Or maybe it's just because it's my dad's beer.
And he cusses like I did in high school, idiosyncratically, dropping bombs like they're commas. But other than that it's the same, or better because he's been to college and lived in Europe, and has a lot more to say now--which actually works for him, because he isn't a jackass like most people who have been to college or lived in Europe. It's nice to have a conversation that doesn't feel like playing tennis with a brick wall.
I taught with the missionaries for the first time since coming home this week, and Scott came along. Gave me a powerful feeling of nostalgia for my mission, accompanied by a not-entirely contradictory sense of gratitude that it's over. Scott asked good questions and I tried (and failed) to abridge my answers like Elder Ballard told us to in General Conference. I've never been good at "leaving them wanting more."
Talking to Scott about his past three years makes me so desperate to get through this summer and start that college thing. Mostly because I miss girls. Just having a reason to be around them and talk to them. The singles ward is nice enough, but it's like dying of thirst on a raft in the Pacific... the seawater is beginning to look more and more palatable, but I know if I drink it'll only make me thirstier.
--Kevin
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