Sitting up late, eating unnaturally large strawberries, wearing athletic clothing and not much else.
Hair up, out of my face, giant glasses perched on my nose.
Thinking hard. Thinking about the future but not in the way I used to.
No sense of impending doom. That's nice.
I am calm. It's serene and quiet here. No one else in the house - except grandpa who is asleep and will be until six o' clock on the dot.
Sarvays love our rituals.
This house could stand to be a bit cooler in the summer. It's just like Georgia in here which is almost too much for me to handle with sanity.
I miss Middlebury and my roommate a little bit. At least I miss having the option to talk to someone my age without putting much effort into it.
I miss my crew team.
I don't miss much else from Middlebury though, except maybe waking up early and having silence and the internet every morning. That's about it. I don't miss the cold, or classes or anything or anyone else. I'm sick of New England too soon.
At times like this I tend to miss Groton. I've stopped missing Groton as much. I miss the Miller's prefects and the rest of the dorm. I miss a few teachers. But less nostalgia is good. I'm growing up I suppose. I hate the thought.
I'm absolutely yearning to be home. Even if I have to do everything by hand: dishes, drying clothing and other mundane chores I love it.
I love waking up with my fan blowing across my back. I love waking up to the gurgle of the coffee maker and my dad stalking around preparing the kitchen so making breakfast will be easy after his morning run. I miss my mother and her alternating health and her quickness to a joke and how she gets mad so easily when I behave with what she perceives as impropriety.
Soon I'll be home. I can wait a bit more.
I'm craving coffee. The pot is just downstairs with my favorite mug eagerly placed next to it. Just a little wouldn't hurt? I can hear advice about how unhealthy coffee is ringing in my back of my head. Worrying about health is for people who are already at peace with themselves.
I only worry about individual moments and temporary pleasures.
The long run is irrelevant in the short run. Wise words. Not really. But it's late and my brain hurts and I want to curl up with Game of Thrones and read until my eyes droop shut and lead me to tomorrow. It's almost too hot to just lie in bed though.
This project of letting my thoughts flow freely is not necessarily going to be successful. I've blogged too much today for someone without an internet connection. Long live neighbors with unprotected wi-fi.
Seriously. Why did I ever think that I needed to be surrounded by people to feel safe and protected? I have myself. I'm not so bad after all.
I am alone and I enjoy it. I have no obligations. I have no emotions. All I care about it myself.
It feels good to be self-centered. I should try it more often.
Hair up, out of my face, giant glasses perched on my nose.
Thinking hard. Thinking about the future but not in the way I used to.
No sense of impending doom. That's nice.
I am calm. It's serene and quiet here. No one else in the house - except grandpa who is asleep and will be until six o' clock on the dot.
Sarvays love our rituals.
This house could stand to be a bit cooler in the summer. It's just like Georgia in here which is almost too much for me to handle with sanity.
I miss Middlebury and my roommate a little bit. At least I miss having the option to talk to someone my age without putting much effort into it.
I miss my crew team.
I don't miss much else from Middlebury though, except maybe waking up early and having silence and the internet every morning. That's about it. I don't miss the cold, or classes or anything or anyone else. I'm sick of New England too soon.
At times like this I tend to miss Groton. I've stopped missing Groton as much. I miss the Miller's prefects and the rest of the dorm. I miss a few teachers. But less nostalgia is good. I'm growing up I suppose. I hate the thought.
I'm absolutely yearning to be home. Even if I have to do everything by hand: dishes, drying clothing and other mundane chores I love it.
I love waking up with my fan blowing across my back. I love waking up to the gurgle of the coffee maker and my dad stalking around preparing the kitchen so making breakfast will be easy after his morning run. I miss my mother and her alternating health and her quickness to a joke and how she gets mad so easily when I behave with what she perceives as impropriety.
Soon I'll be home. I can wait a bit more.
I'm craving coffee. The pot is just downstairs with my favorite mug eagerly placed next to it. Just a little wouldn't hurt? I can hear advice about how unhealthy coffee is ringing in my back of my head. Worrying about health is for people who are already at peace with themselves.
I only worry about individual moments and temporary pleasures.
The long run is irrelevant in the short run. Wise words. Not really. But it's late and my brain hurts and I want to curl up with Game of Thrones and read until my eyes droop shut and lead me to tomorrow. It's almost too hot to just lie in bed though.
This project of letting my thoughts flow freely is not necessarily going to be successful. I've blogged too much today for someone without an internet connection. Long live neighbors with unprotected wi-fi.
Seriously. Why did I ever think that I needed to be surrounded by people to feel safe and protected? I have myself. I'm not so bad after all.
I am alone and I enjoy it. I have no obligations. I have no emotions. All I care about it myself.
It feels good to be self-centered. I should try it more often.
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