SWS

"To travel is to be born and die every moment,"
-Victor Hugo "Les Mis"


Suicidal Worm Syndrome.

I have it.

This morning I had to pick my way carefully across the pavement for fear of stepping on one of the hundreds of worms that had oozed up overnight. When I got to the Benson building, I was sad to see that the cement had started to dry directly next to the wall, leaving all of the worms stranded and dying.

"Why do they do that?" I asked myself. "Why do they crawl onto the cement when they must know that they can't burrow into it? They should just stay in the soil."

I then spent the rest of the hour mourning the lives of these slimy, sad creatures.

When I left for math, I still could not conceive of a reason for their strange (and morbid) behaviors.

Then I went to German, and it all became clear. We looked at pictures of Vienna and the Swiss Alps, and my heart nearly cried for the beauty.

"I want to see these things. I know that it might be dangerous, leaving the country, but it's a risk . . . I'm willing . . . to take."

Epiphany.

Perhaps when I go to Germany, the little German worms will poke out of their holes and think to themselves, "Warum kommt sie her? Sie muss wissen, dass es gefährlich ist. Sie soll in ihr eigenes Land bleiben."