It's interesting to note that, while I am fairly apathetic toward Truman and Kirksville in general, I laugh much more while I'm at school than I do here. Maybe it's because my parents are stodgy old coots? (Hi Mom!) Don't get me wrong, I still laugh plenty while I'm at home. I'm just not experiencing as many of those laughs that start at the bottom of your gut and work their way up, irresistably tickling at your sides until you laugh and laugh until all is right with the world, even if it isn't.
Since I'm in that description-esque sort of mood, I'll change the rest of this entry (a paragraph and a list) to fit that style. In my opinion, one of the greatest feelings in the world is the sort of feeling you get when you're reading, reading, trapped in a book and you just can't escape. You've been reading the same book for hours upon hours, laying in bed and flopping to your stomach from your back and from side to side, and the writing is so astonishing, so truly amazing, that you're trapped. It totters back and forth, the words like waves in an ocean of black and white, crescendoing to a climax, reaching the heights of the summit, and you try to climb back down, to rappel down the face of the mountain, to dive off the edge and into the air; and instead of landing on the jagged rocks below, you're caught by the wind and float off. The book ends and you're ebullient, wordless, astounded--and you go try to explain your emotions, but no matter how many metaphors and allegories and fancy rhetorical devices you shove into your explanation, you know it's all for nought; there's no way you can possibly describe it.