My dearest Nora, wherever thou mayst roam,
I'm in the university library at the moment--the first floor, or "the dungeon," as I often refer to it. Rather than pounding physiological facts into my brain, I'm daydreaming about a situation that is quite common but really caught my attention today.
Nothing is more fascinating to me during my cross-campus travels than hearing people conversing in other languages.
Language has always done something for me, and having (at one point, many, many years ago) thought I'd mastered just about all modern English had to offer (Yeah, I know. I swear I was always too mortified of appearing pompous to admit it aloud), other languages seemed like the obvious route to go.
I spent a lot of time learning Swedish after a fateful encounter, and as happy as I was with my progress...there was no one else around to speak the language with. All of my Swedish-speaking friends have gone back to Sweden, and the time difference and our busy lives makes it difficult to coordinate a Skype conversation or some such.
Just once, I'd like to be wandering around campus and speaking another language, any language, with someone. Even as a child, the prospect of speaking in code to my closest mates was wildly exhilarating. Many times were codes devised and employed, and great fun was had, but those days were all rather short-lived and dried up by the time I'd reached 6th grade. I reckon most thought it too immature a thing to be involved with, what with the fact that the middle school I went to was adjoined with the high school. Childish and immature fun has still, at the age of 27, stuck with me and I'm glad for it. Who wants to be a miserable old coot who is preoccupied with concerns of others looking down upon them?
But, I'm rambling. Surely on this campus are a number of Swedes, perhaps some pretty girls, just waiting for the chance to giggle at my bad grammar.
May the grace of He keep you always,