Title says it all, though I think I'll be better about updating in the future. I've stopped keeping a diary, but the whole spilling-guts thing is rather theraputic. (spelling. spelling fail.) (bah.)
So I'm in Scotland--stranded in Scotland, I joke. I think I joke. I'm really caught in this dreadful jux of 'am I stranded here?'
More to the point, I think my main issue is that I've had this taste of this life over here. I'm filled with inspiration for it, and so now I want to go home and make this work. I want to keep this momentum, this wonderful thing at my back that's pushing me so fast now. I feel like I can take this spirit of here into me--forsooth, I do love thee: forsooth, I will remain--and use it to push myself into all those late-night study papers, all those little sacrifices.
And...
Oh, this really isn't the most coherent of posts, is it?
I want to remember this moment forever.
There is a jam jar, next to the computer. Strawberry jam and bread and galaxy caramel bars for breakfast. Q is snoozing in a linen shift thing and I'm wrapped in a maroon badge of warmth and St. A. Sunlight sits on the floor like another thing in the room, another person, another presence. Sunshine for sunshine. It isn't really a good name for me, I think.
Who am I?
No comments:
Post a Comment