I’m home. But sleeping like shit.

Still weird to be back. 

I am waiting on word that I passed my capstone project for my masters. Nineteen pages that I haven’t read, but I’m proud of nonetheless. 

I bought myself a ‘vintage’ typewriter as a ‘graduation gift.’ 

I’m working on getting my apartment de-cluttered and.. more adult?

I’m going to be 25 in a month. 

I’m having a quarter-life crisis, I think?

Kind of want to be a writer?

Don’t worry, this post isn’t indicative of.. well, anything but mindless rambling. 

I can’t decide if I’m sad because I’m not in London, or if I’m sad because I like being home. A bit.

I feel like I’m in the waiting room again, you know, in limbo.

Just on another layover.

A longer one, this time, I guess.

Must find a job. A job that allows for transfers to London.