Back to being lonely.
I'm going to get better at it though. Until it doesn't mean lonely, but independent. And free.

3 weeks sounds so long. And it is, really.
Why do I thrive on intensity? Over-the-topness. Irrationality.

I hate to be bored. Safe. Or responsible. I need my blood to be rushing. I'm addicted to the butterflies in my stomach. They fill the heavy hollow pit that is there otherwise.

I'm not sad. Not too anxious. But not calm. And that's what I want to be. Serene. Comfortable, mostly.

I am happy to be surrounded by all of these books. Especially since they have already been read. They seem more real that way. I always prefer libraries to Barnes and Noble. I like dust. I love imperfection. And over use. And knowing someone else has absorbed the same exact information, down to dog-eared page number 37 and the ink mark on page 189.

It's funny how others can invent your persona for you. Meeting so many new people has resulted in a collective idea of who I am that may or may not be enough of the real me. If that makes sense.

Bookworm.
Librarian.
Do-gooder volunteer (ha)
Overly responsible. (ironicly)
Midwestern farm girl.
Teaser of lesbians.
White girl with blue eyes.
Wiggly.
Beach bum.
Ex-rockstar. (?)
Writer.

It's so funny how people mold you into what they want you to be so quickly. Much faster than you can let them know who you really are. It can end in disapointment so easily.