I've got to stop dwelling on London. It's over. It was great. It happened. It was everything and more than I hope it would be. But I can't ever go back. It changed me and I am much better for having gone. But now I am home. And I have to focus on myself. Sometimes I feel like I'm regressing by being back here. I lived in the middle of a major city and now I am here, in my bedroom in my parents house. My life is smaller.
But I can make the best of this. I can get back in shape and lose ten pounds. I can get some sun and be tan. I can make friends at my new job. I can take a bike ride with my sister. I can sit on the front porch and talk to my mom. I can make scrambled eggs for the first time by myself. I can learn something during my internship. I can read so many books. I can find new music. I can write in my blog and write for a website (or two?) and try to find something to say in The Cowl. I can shop for new clothes and things to decorate my house. I can swim again. I'd like to start writing again. Not like this. This isn't really very good at all. But I know it's something I love doing. I haven't been in a class where I've had to write well since my freshman year. But I know that I am good at it and I could be really good if I tried. How do you even go about that?
I swam tonight for the first time since Harold Anderson in December. It felt great. I knew it would. It's so important to have places like that to go back to that are still the same. It just started down pouring outside. So I am going to sit and enjoy the rain from inside my bedroom in my parents house. And it will be fine.
No comments:
Post a Comment