Woke up, fell out of bed. Hit the loft and hurt my head. Prayer of thanks. Gazing as the sun rises over the capitol dome. Running down Lakeshore Path without my contacts in. Picking up The Mendota Beacon at the loading dock for distribution. Furiously typing the final pages of a history paper for Suri. Grabbing French toast at Mickie's, an omlette at Sun Room, a donut at Greenbush, a bagel at Einstein's. Mocha frappucino. Painfully thawing the bike lock with my hand and pedaling to Social Sciences. Super Saturday pre-game beer pong, cloaked in red. Cooking in the church basement. Stopping to smell the pink blossoms around the fountain. A rollicking honors section with Dresang. Sampling cheddar on a toothpick, maple syrup on a spoon. Good morning, good morning.

And it really doesn't matter if I'm wrong — I'm right. Where I belong, I'm right. On Bascom Hill in the late morning. Comprising a thin red line against Books Not Bombs. Production possibility frontiers. Whistling in Baughman's lecture. Concealed carry passes the Senate, the phones light up in the office. Australopithecines. Hawking brats on the mall, one lonely dollar. Riding my bike through the picket lines. Dissecting free speech with Downs. Struggling through a glaciology lab. The polar waters of Lake Monona delivering a roundhouse punch to my body. Frisbee. It's getting better all the time.

Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly, your mouth full of Ian's pizza at noon. Reciting the rosary in the shadows of the chapel. Cell phone chatter. Kelly, Bob, and James chowing down at Pizza Hut on State. Piccolo Guy floats a Sousa march over the food carts. Kyle, Mo and Louis talk wrestling over chicken sandwiches in the Chad Caf. Waving a flag outside the recruiting center. Gummi frogs at Espresso Royale. Hands with 50 years of experience at College Barber. Potbelly. Check wiscmail. Begging, change cup jangling on the sidewalk. Sun high overhead. Bloviating, muckraking on WSUM, the snake on the lake. A splendid time is guaranteed for all.

And life flows on within you and without you. Droning on about cyclones in the afternoon, drowsy in the dimness of Science Hall. Surveying the crowds from a Mifflin porch. Tailbone feeling the frozen hill at Liz Waters through the food tray. Terrace chairs, fresh lake air. Signs on the bridge. Throwing up a blog post at Letters in Bottles. Canoeing through the algae with Justin on Mendota. Softball. Swaying to Varsity. Mao's crazy foreign policy. Allstaff. Mentoring. The man with the cigar welcoming me aboard again. Arguing as Thoreau in Fowler's class. Keg kickball in the Greenbush, spilling Leinie's O. Hot sun, crimson leaves. Alfisol samples at Picnic Point. Football on ice, a black eye bloody noses. Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends.

It's wonderful to be here, it's certainly a thrill. But it's late, and ASM meetings drag on and on at the Union in the evening. Chin's. Basketball at the SERF. Destroying the door of a finicky 1991 Chrysler LeBaron with a pile of ice on the east side. Ed. Board, convene. Downing brats and mash at Brocach. Art Paul Schlosser on cazoo. Mass. Thanksgiving at David's. Raining on the Homecoming parade. Hats at the Stiftskellar. Fishing off the limnology lab pier, the waves undulating at sunset. A Badger Party meeting at Matt Modell's apartment. Meeting the poet laureate. Stopping at Darryn and Jordan's for cheese and a monologue. Humming the Gritty birthday song against my own will. Rebelling with the CR's in Grainger. Removing a bat from the apartment. Talking cartoons, sifting and winnowing. Friends. Give us a wink and make me think of you.

Something inside that was always denied for so many years. St. Patrick's Day. Things change. Boots and polka at the Essen Haus on Thursday night. U-Square for $3. Soaked, freezing in Section M as Ohio State went down, the goalpost nearly followed. A pitcher of Point at the Plaza. Group projects. Kerry and W, head to head, live at La Ciel. Shufflepuck at the Dollar. Pokey sticks. Nearly dying in the dark on a pontoon boat, trying to protest Michael Moore. Working the stacks. Stumbling back from Everclear — and Cake, the Kissers and Ben Folds. Exams. Darts at Lucky's. Shouting "Sieve!" Remembering the Edmund Fitzgerald. Courtin' Helen C. Golf ball-sized hail. The incantations of N. Scott Momaday. Driving with the top down to Sun Prairie, searching for the Kingdom of Heaven. Parthenon gyros. McCallum conceding, Bush barely scraping by. Laptops. Pepper spray stings my sinuses, the glow of costumes in the street, horses. Convening at the keg in the basement on a hill. Chalking "Give ASM the Bird" outside Humanities. Beacon layout never-ending. Pepsi, Coke, Dr. Pepper. Everybody knows there's nothing doing. Everything is closed, it's like a ruin.

Heading for home, you start to roam. Nothing to say but what a day, how's your boy been. The wee hours. Darkness. Constellations. Empty bottles. Climbing ten stories, no stories, three stories. Super Smash, an Opiate. Cozy, safe. Trust. Deathcab. The meaning of life. Poetry. Truth in the waning moments. Shuffle home to the shanty. Moonlight sonata. Force a few pages of reading. Set the alarm in this slanting, glorified closet of a room. Look forward to tomorrow. Counting badgers. Sleep. We're sorry, but it's time to go.

We hope you have enjoyed the show.

Brad Vogel ([email protected]) is a senior majoring in political science and journalism.