Reintegration.

Woke up this morning at 9:30. Probably the earliest I'll ever wake up before class. Did my usual morning ritual of cleaning myself up, furiously scouring emails, marking appointments, sending emails, responding to text messages, reading asinine facebook comments, and generally stalling.

Class at 11am. Geology 102. Because I need one more science class (without a lab), and this was it. That class is packed. Kids come in late, climbing over everyone because the room is filled to capacity. Me? I'm just contemplating today's blog post.

Queen (the professor) reminds us of the rumor that, last year during tornado season, professors would hold students hostage with an assignment that must be done. Can't leave until it's finished, and it cannot be made up. She goes on to remark how 1) it's sociopathic, 2) dangerous, and 3) completely against university policy—if that really did happen.

Side note: should that ever happen, leave and seek safety, then file a grievance against the professor.

I find out that the exams are structured such that of the four (including the final), only the top three will count. And one falls on the day right after my birthday. Any college student in this situation creates this predicament: "do I prepare to nurse the inevitable hangover resulting from turning 21? Or suck it up, wait a day, and ace every exam so I can choose not to take the final?"

I'm a future-minded guy in academic cases, so I'll be a responsible human, thank you.

Queen (the professor) let us out 20 minutes after class began. And that's the end of my school day.

Of course, the life of being busy is never that simple. Meetings upon meetings, making time to kill time, and not being a recluse is the order of the day.

#RebelInAuburn, Part III

Returning to my home campus today. I enjoyed the visit and had quite a bit of fun. I'm a huge fan of leaving comfort zones far behind, which is why I decided to make this trip.

Now, don't get me wrong. There is nothing that would cause me to leave Ole Miss, especially for another school. "All the fine girls go to Ole Miss" (so true), it's the best-looking campus, has the friendliest people, and who could forget that I was once hired to reinforce all of these facts.

I would be lying, however, if I said I would never come to Auburn again. Just don't ever expect me to chant anything that has to do with combat and birds.

I've enjoyed myself thoroughly.

#RebelInAuburn, Part II

Having spent a full 24 hours here, I've found Auburn to be quite an interesting city. First, the best barbecue I've ever had. Hands down. Because this isn't Mississippi, it is perfectly reasonable to assume that your neighbor in your dorm is female. Greek life...is intense (that's all I'm saying about that). I've met some pretty interesting characters so far.

Downtown is very much like Oxford's square, though generally no dancing happens, and everything stays open until 2AM.

They listen to the same music I do...which pleases me to no end. Yes, there's only so much Skrillex I can handle, and I'd much prefer to jam to Pitbull or Drake.

Today, I went to an Auburn Tigers basketball game, in which they spanked South Carolina (I'm sure you can find some innuendo in there somewhere). It was their letterman's day, so they had basketball alumni return, including one Sir Charles Barkley. I sat not far from him.

And that's all for this unusually short post.

#RebelInAuburn

In lieu of returning to beloved Ole Miss, I have just arrived in scenic Auburn, Alabama...undertaking a completely new experience.

Yes, although I've always loved Ole Miss since setting foot on campus, and would love nothing more to return, circumstances have mandated that I go to Auburn University. It's abrupt, and happened without warning, I know.

I've had to make drastic decisions for myself and what's best for my life, and I just needed to have a change of scenery.

I will miss everyone deeply and wish everyone all the best.

Politics and Rebels

Here comes the season of student government elections. You've got the camp supporting one candidate, the camp supporting another, and yet another camp who adamantly declares that they are not voting for whatever reason.

I've never been an overly politically-minded person; I keep up with national (and sometimes international) politics, but I grew up knowing that I didn't want to be a politician. Being a journalist, ironically, is the closest thing to it.

Politicians have to be charismatic, demagogues, and able to espouse beliefs that they will unwaveringly stand upon. And they generally have my respect.

If you're someone who may have exposure to a large number of people, expect to be tapped for them. And be flattered that someone saw you as important enough to their campaign that they want your face attached to it.

Running a campaign, as I have come to learn, is an arduous process. The candidate and campaign team fight to appeal to the undecided voter, while not alienating their own supporters (guess what I learned in political science).

As I was elected to serve as the president for the building I live in, I got to see what happens when politics are applied to a college community.

In the fall, during the personality elections, the public forum for our building was a bit of a nightmare. Candidate promotions (a bit excessively pushed by supporters) were suddenly met with a tremendous outcry. The building itself became hostile overall. Unsurprisingly, my attempts at mediation were not well-received.

This is why I am not suited for politics.

The other residents, not realizing that their inherently neutrality in the context of campus election made them a prime audience for electioneers, believed themselves assailed in an election which they felt had no real gravity.

It wasn't the apathy that was the problem; it was the aggressive nature of said apathy. Obviously, not voting is as much a right as voting is, but campaign teams are formed to ask, not demand, for support.

Interestingly enough, despite such a belligerent stance against the election, the candidates who generated the most support in the building were the ones who literally went door-to-door, personally asking for support.

As for our online forum, our cabinet has dealt with ways to prevent such a violent reaction. All is basically well.

Of course, we still have the ones who will campaign for nobody at all. It's humorous to watch.

Think With Me For A Few Minutes.

Today's is a personal post [Now Listening to: Marching On by Flo Rida & Aaron London]. After living the good life in college, sometimes it's a surreal experience to return home for a little while every now and then. You face everything you left behind, for better or worse. You get to reflect on old experiences and how they made you who you are; and how that fits into your future. You compare yourself to your peers—not in a haughty or proud sense, but more in recognition. Having taken the same path to the graduation stage, you see the divergence between yourself and the girl you had an English course with.

From my perspective; I saw the ones who left home as I did, and the ones who stayed, and I could remember the only directive in my mind. Going to college was a given for me, but I mandated for myself that I would be going out of state. So set was I on this, that I applied to no schools within 100 miles of home. The average distance of schools from home was about 600 miles. I considered schools in New York, D.C., Boston, Ohio, and of course Mississippi.

I saw classmates and friends who had found their life parters, and have either engaged to be married, or have been married since high school. I remember my insistence on avoiding being married until after I had lived a good portion of my young life. I knew I wanted my life to be filled with experiences long before undertaking one so incredible. And yet, I can also feel a kind of happiness for those who have found the one who didn't consider them perfect, but saw fit to wade through their shortcomings to find the heart best suited for them.

I saw what used to be sources of heartbreak. What surprised me was myself. I had let go. This is surprising because I like to claim I have a superb memory, meaning I remember not only what happened, but how I felt. It then dawned on me that through my growth—while remembering vaguely what happened—I had forgotten the pain.

I saw some who are living their dreams, and others living in contentment. This was most striking, as it brought to my mind my own ravenous desires. I have always wanted a life not necessarily bound inexorably to one place. While home is a place to be established, I also want much more than to have property to my name. I want to see the most exotic, the best, the worst, the most emotionally moving, and the most exciting that this world has to offer. But in order to achieve any of this, I knew I'd have to dream, then wake up and live it.

Dreams are effortless. You close your eyes, and you're there in some scenario of your design. There's always that one minute element, impossible to miss, that reminds you that this simulation of life is only a mental construct, not the reality that you have shaped. Yet.

Having seen what I had left behind, however, made me understand and appreciate what I actually have found.

Most prominently, I've found more of myself than I had ever truly known. There are people (family included) for whom I would give almost anything, and I have an unusual way of making that known. I've found myself to be unusually protective of, as well as being willing to check in on, people important to me. I'm empathetic toward them, almost to a fault, and I suffer when I believe I've somehow lost them.

I've learned to trust myself, and somehow avoid pursuing all the wrong things. Sure, I'll make a mistake every now and then (but, as I've said before, I don't believe in mistakes; just things to learn from).

I've found the will to take control of my life, and the ability to accept what is beyond my control.

Although I still appear to be the same stoic, emotionally detached kid from years ago, I still have a massive range of emotion that still gets wildly out of hand (only at appropriate times). I've found that being so self-controlled (in general) is my own way of dealing with these emotions, rarely sharing them until prodded severely enough.

I can shed the shield of self-control and enjoy life at present, caring little for the next day.

I can wake up in the morning, decide that today is a good day, and run with it, unwilling to be upset. I can sleep at night, satisfied with what I did during the day, yet wanting to do more tomorrow.

Heck, I've even become so comfortable with myself that I'm willing to just blindly talk about myself.

Child Pornography...In Our Own Backyard??

For most of my readers: I'm from Indiana. Just recently, there was a man arrested for child pornography. That's always disturbing. What's more disturbing is how he was caught. Even more disturbing was his day job. This raises massive concerns, of course.

Stephen J. Brockman, 48, is a freelance photographer for newspapers, with a website catering to children's sporting events—giving him unusually high access to children.

Our intrepid photographer was caught—asleep at McDonald's, laptop open, displaying pictures of nude children—by Harrison County Police Department Officer Nicholas Smith, who was in all likelihood casually strolling in for a Quarter Pounder. This almost sounds too ludicrous to even make any sense.

Brockman consented to a warrantless search almost immediately. Unsurprisingly, Indiana State Police uncovered hundreds of images of child pornography, with at least one depicting a child performing sexual acts.

Brockman is facing six months to three years in prison for each of nine counts of a Class D felony for possession of child pornography.

There's a serious concern for who we allow near our children. This man photographed your young basketball player. The worst part about sex offenders is that they're not always who you'd expect.