Good news

I'm getting out.

For the past four months I've been stuck here at college with little distraction. I haven't seen my parents or my brother since his wedding in September. I'm not sure if that's entirely good or bad, because for like 22 years I saw them every day pretty much, and I was glad to escape for a bit. Four months is longer than a bit.

I feel a bit like I'm being paroled. I've had a prison mentality down here: Don't join any gangs, deal with the poor nutrition, lift some weights, don't be an ass, do your 4 hours of work a day and you'll be alright. I realise fully how ridiculous that sounds. This isn't even a country club prison, it's a damn college campus with all kinds of trim walking around constantly, there are friggin palm trees outside most of the buildings, the food isn't that bad (it's just terrible for you) and most days I don't do anywhere near 4 hours of 'work'.

But still. I never felt comfortable here, despite efforts of a few people to try and make these 4 months a little easier. I have 4 final exams in the next 4 days, and then I get in my car and dash for 95 North and head home. I want so badly to do it one day, instead of stopping in BFE in Virginia or North Carolina. I think I'll be invigorated by knowing that I can be home if I just keep driving.

And then I get to go to work on Monday morning. Back to civilization, the returning adventurer arrives home to regale his good people who have looked after the fort with fine stories from the road, of which I have a few, but not many. I feel like I'd be a slight disappointment if I can't make a few people chuckle with what's gone on down here, but I'm really not as rife with stories as I thought I'd be.

Somewhere along the way, I'm beginning to realise I've lost my rhythm. I'm not in step anymore, though always when making this reappraisal of one's self, you have to know that you may have never had 'it' to begin with. I don't know, but it seems in my heyday, I was a little more in control and a lot more entertaining. Now people are telling me that "You know, most mental illness does manifest in the early 20's...."

I have a month to find myself. Rediscover whatever it is or was that I think I had before and make sure I have it again. I move back into this apartment roughly 4 weeks after I leave it. I make that long ass drive down 95 myself again, to move back in and start again. Trying to lay low, and not attract too much attention to myself. Dealing with the lousy food, lifting a few weights, and resigning myself to the job at hand. This will be every bit of a 2 year sentence. I know that now, and 4 months has been long, but I haven't fully cracked yet. But make no mistake, I'm going to enjoy every fucking second of my parole.