Towards the end of my week-long Apologetics class, I started feeling like a cave salamander. I wondered if my professor caught a glimpse of hollow, glassy eyes when he scanned the room. The coffee had propped me in my chair, and upstairs, the gears turned with whispery efficiency. But my too-relaxed frame revealed a listlessness that would have been noted by the careful observer—the torpor of a body that has spent too much time indoors.
As I listened to the excellent lectures, and enjoyed them thoroughly, I felt another sensation rising inside of me. Small at first. Then bigger. A frighteningly strong urge to run across a sunlit field, screaming. Or at the very least, to escape the confines of the classroom—to jump out a window, or slip away through a heating vent.
I mentioned this impulse to some of my classmates, and they responded with puzzled chuckles. Was it conceivable that they didn’t feel it too?
Maybe my skin was overly sensitive to fluorescent light. Or maybe my body had an abnormally low indolence threshold. Then again, maybe some of my classmates were overfed sofa spuds.
Whatever the case, this weekend will be the scene of some vigorous outdoor living.