I am officially moved into my apartment.
I didn’t actually end up unpacking much until this morning, but I’m not quite sure what exactly I spent the four hours between when my parents left and when I finally fell asleep doing. A lot of spacing out, a little TV, and there may or may not have been chocolate involved.
I’m going to be doing plenty of writing during the next week (hence the reason(s) I’m here so early), but I haven’t worked on my memoir in what feels like forever, and tonight might be a good night to do so. I don’t usually admit to homesickness. I guess I’m not really homesick. Just caught in the in-between again.
But hey, at least I have coffee. And books. And a nice warm bed.
Don’t judge my stuffed animal. She makes me feel loved.
I had a really good story idea the other day (I think it was while I was doing laundry in the midst of packing to come back to school), but of course I can’t remember what it was. I’m almost afraid I’ll get an obnoxious buildup of ideas while I’m working on all my yearbook/newspaper/internship responsibilities and develop some kind of Stressed Writer’s Syndrome.
There would be no cure.
Just – please – don’t let me try to start another novel. The universe can’t handle that much Meg. I can’t even handle what I have now, and I’m ME.