(no subject)
Coming back home has rendered some mixed feelings in my book. I'm glad to not be living in a 12x15 prison cell, glad to have finally thrown away my awful pair of shower flip-flops, and I'm especially thankful to have rekindled a friendship with someone I thought had walked out of my life. However, there were a handful of things about living here that I wanted to forget about for the rest of my life when I moved out in August, and they seem to have been hiding here, waiting to catch me unsuspecting once I finally settled in for the summer. Me and Ale are back to fighting over pretty much everything, my friends around here have, for the most part, gone back to ignoring my existence, and I find myself constantly doubting the decisions that have brought me to where I stand now. Did I pursue the best path that I could have following high school? Could I have done more? Should I have aimed higher? Shouldn't I have so much more to show for? I'm incredibly thankful for the relationships I have made since I went to UGA, but I can't help thinking that I should have shot for a higher mark. I know that it would have been a lot of work for my family to send me where I had in the back of my mind, and I would have hated myself for making them spend all that money and then decided that I didn't like it there, but I didn't even bother applying. I'm going to question myself for a long time whether there was even a possibility elsewhere. Did I abandon some greater destiny out of my own lethargic doubtfulness?
What it comes down to is that I'm tired of wishing I was elsewhere. It's 9:33 P.M. on a Saturday night. For the past week, I have had a legitimate reason of leaving the house twice, and one of those was for fucking groceries. What's worse is that I've made dozens of calls. Picking up never hurt anyone, guys. Thanks a lot. It's a sin to wish away your life, but that's a deed for which I find myself consistently guilty.
What it comes down to is that I'm tired of wishing I was elsewhere. It's 9:33 P.M. on a Saturday night. For the past week, I have had a legitimate reason of leaving the house twice, and one of those was for fucking groceries. What's worse is that I've made dozens of calls. Picking up never hurt anyone, guys. Thanks a lot. It's a sin to wish away your life, but that's a deed for which I find myself consistently guilty.