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.