Life Like Legos

I’m back at school.  Sometimes it freaks me out how much things can change in a matter of hours.  In the duration of a car ride, my life has shifted.  I swear it’s two totally different dynamics, school life and home life.  It’s a jarring transition, I must admit.  It’ll take a while to get used to things but on the other hand, I almost feel like I’ve picked up where I left off. 

I’m sitting in my room.  It’s taken a couple of hours to put up all of my clothing and hook up all of my electronics.  I remembered the small clip on lamp that I forgot last quarter.  It’s shining on the wall now, just enough light to be comfortable, unlike the harshly bright light that comes from the ceiling.  Jaryd and Steve are asleep because they are old men and Beau and Chana are in the living room laughing.  I can hear Chana’s obnoxious cackle through the thin walls.  Y’know, I knew she’d be here when I walked in and I was right.  So, I guess all of Beau’s bullspit about not wanting to be with her anymore was just another one of his lies.  I wonder about him sometimes.  I wonder if I can be friends with someone like him.  On one hand, he’s cool and there are things I can talk to him about that I can’t talk to the other guys about, but then when it comes to things like Chana and his drinking, he turns into a big douche.  I just don’t know if I want to try to pursue a strong friendship with him.  I don’t know.  I don’t really want to worry about him anymore.

Or anything else.

I forgot about my Dawn of the Dead poster I put up last quarter.  I still think it’s awesome and the lamplight hits the poster just right, making the zombie man’s uneven gaze even more menacing.

I’m going to get more organized this quarter.  I really am.  I already organized my underwear.  Life is next.

It’s weird to me how things just click into place, snapping shut like it’s not as big of a deal as I’ve made it out to be.  And I suppose it isn’t.  Not many things are.  I tend to over dramatize.  My classes won’t be that bad except for my writing class.  It’s a new teacher and a new group of kids and that always makes me queasy.  My roommates are going to be in my other classes so I’ll be fine in those…it’s just that darn writing class that I’m worried about.  But I guess I’ll get over it and deal with it ‘cause I have no choice.  I need to post the essays I did for last quarter on here.  I’ll have to get on that.

“This was a damn good essay,” I can still hear my professor telling me.  What a compliment, especially coming from a published writer.  Yet, I remain unconvinced.

I’m a little sad. 

Everything else is okay but I’m just not.