I live here now. I have a house, with curtains and plates and food and a lot of plans. My father flew over to help me move and to help me do the millions of things you need to do to be able to say you live somewhere. All I had to do was pick what colour, what type, fuss about how tired I am and demand we take breaks and pay. I’ve realized how addictive living alone is, how just the presence of another person completely throws me off and makes me a little sullen. I’m hoping that’s not going to be the case for life, but I’m wondering if it would be a bad thing.
I wish I could convert the good intentions of my mornings into reality. I’ve watched so much TV since I got here. I’ve become addicted to nicotine. I haven’t felt fickle in a while. Reckless and irresponsible, yes, fickle, no. I’m turning 25, after which nothing will seem fresh or new. I should really stop doing this, all my previous posts here saying ‘I’m turning 21 / 22 / 23/ 24. Oh no!’ seem so stupid. I have no routine so far but I feel a little stagnant. I haven’t felt a great passion in a while, it seems like a lot of effort. The closest I came was all 5 seasons of Dexter, oh god, what is happening to me?