Anonyblog

I don't miss home. Don't get me wrong, I love my parents and all, but I just don't miss them. It takes me a while to remember the format of my house, and I've only been gone four days. It's been longer, if you count the time I left in July, when I basked in the cozy comforts of the city, thinking I was oh-so-worldy. I have been humbled in every sense of the word. So now I am here not feeling homesick and not really allowing myself to settle in; at any moment I ready to pack up and leave and go someplace else. I suppose it has made the whole Getting Used To This New Stage In My Life process easier, but all the same I have drawn into myself. My home is myself. Increasingly my attitude towards things are apathetic, not in the usual sense that I am excited about every new thing, but that I am overwhelmed by the awareness of the existence of so many things I cannot begin to fathom and hence give up. Well, that's a mouthful. I don't even feel like writing. Hence, this shit. I wander around campus, not unhappily, because this year I decided that I was done with sadness, but not happily either. I am bored. I am bored with novelty.