Last weekend was one of the longest weekends in my life. I actually have trouble remembering it all due to the overwhelming *whoosh* above my head that the whole thing feels like.
I think it was mostly good?
I don't think I like being away from home that long. I'm all dislocated from time and/or space. I wrote poetry to myself to get to sleep.
If you asked me how I felt right now, all I could tell you is "Nausea with a hint of cottonballs."
Side note:
Reading
The Chrysalids by John Wyndham and I think that it's the first piece of dystopian literature that I have sincerely liked in a long long time. (God I hated Brave New World) I really hope I still like it by the end.