Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with one leg perched; the other, semi-crossed with my ankle resting on my knee. Does my body really hate sleep this much? Even during the silent hours of the early morning, my legs must desperately attempt to wake me up? I just doesn’t make any sense. Sleep means sleeping.
Living in a
I feel completely uninspired, and I don’t even know what that means. Although I’m happy everyday, everyday has the same routine, the same location, and the same meaning. I suppose this isn’t a bad thing; there should be meaning to each day. But where’s the spontaneity? When I wake up comfortably around 9:30am or 10:00am, I know exactly how the day will play out. The cerebral security is almost unfortunate.
Because of these habitual days, I try to make it a point to get lost during the evening. The other day, I wandered the neighboring roads on foot for a couple hours of the night. I’ve never taken refuge in wandering, but in a new town it’s almost exhilarating. While walking down roads I’ve never been on and seeing houses and businesses I’ve never seen, I feel as if I’m becoming acquainted with my own life. It’s fine.
I want so badly to make good friends. Because of the small, tight-knit group of friends that was created while I was attending
The thing that I think bugs me about
I’ll continue my endeavor to meet interesting people. I won’t give up after a few short months this time. Look at me finally trying to “be bold.”
Now, despite the peculiar timbre of this area, I do kind of enjoy it here. Things are so mellow. I live with one of my best friends, and it’s been easy for me to be passionate about school. Also, I seem to be losing weight, which seems to be the neo-American Dream. I’m happy to, at least, be happy most of the day.