93 F and climbing

Ah the dreaded blog. Here goes, despite possible future censorship.

I wonder why people can't just be happy with where they are, or with what they have presently. It's strange, really. During the summer the only place I wanted to be was down south. When I finally arrived to live in a haunted house I wonder why I was more disappointed than happy. To be, once again, living with a couple and having issues with food on top of being unable to afford anything. Oh, and it became part 2 of the long distance. The two months of turmoil crept by ever so slowly, like standing at attention while an ant finds its way down your bare arm. Continue with more arguments, more fights, more moments of lovey dovey goodness. Transition to a month of spring, heaven. Although after a while, after too much waiting time, the end goal doesn't seem so amazing anymore. Or maybe I idealized it to become something completely impossible.

Immerse yourself into a half dream-half reality lucid state. I was with the one I loved and yet I wasn't happy. Between a crappy dead end job that left me half dead and 20 years older every time I clocked out, attempting to make friends with people I don't have the least bit in common, finally being reunited with someone I'd been waiting a year for (see: rushing home after classes to turn on the computer to see he's not (or is) there, passing up opportunities to go out with friends, becoming lazy and depressing as I wasted away in bed, resulting in random outbursts of frustration and the need to give up, losing any sort of appetite but keeping on the same annoying weight-all for an entire year) all the waiting, resentment and frustration building up to the final reunion, in which I was told that I can't be with this person every day despite my limited time allowed there. That was annoying. I was basically being told I was needy or even better, immature, yet expected all the same to be exerting the energy, fuel, time to see this person, but to do it in reverse would be considered selfish because I had the car. Calling all men to the front, please (in possession of a reliable form of transportation preferred eg. bike, bus, or car).

In any case, I was missing home, even now Home still rings true. I remember being very sad everytime it came on the radio as I drove home from the hospital. The first two years were the hardest since I was far away and had nothing to look forward to when I went back to my temporary home. It was very lonely for awhile, till I finally found a place I fit in and was able to blow off steam. It's strange that no matter where I go, no matter how novel it is, the faces and places I go to eventually become old and I start longing to be home again. It might be a crappy little city with nothing to offer, but I never feel as content as I am at home. Sure, there are times I feel..stifled isn't the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind. And yet it doesn't matter where I go, after 2 months I always feel a little out of place, unless I have something to occupy myself intellectually of course. Maybe it would have been better if I had fellow bio nerdds to talk to, or pre meds to worry about med school with. Some more..sustenance. My mind was the devil's playground and it deteriorated like a late-stage Alzheimer's patients. And I didn't care. That was worrisome, and I think that's what motivated me most to go home despite the fact that I might regret it later. Because I knew that regardless of whether or not I'd be kicking myself in the head, my brain would thank me later as I slowly attempted to find all of the nuts and bolts I'd lost and rebuild all of the circuitry. I'm still a little out of it, but my words are slowly returning, and I don't go into space out mode so much anymore. Ah, the joys of letting the mind go to waste and then attempting to restore it again. I would like a ctrl alt del function, please.