nola 9

I sit, waiting for the minutes to bleed into hours, waiting for the time to pass quietly and heavily away. I’m waiting for something. Waiting to go home, waiting for summer to end, waiting for school to start, for class to end, for school to end, for summer to end. Waiting. For what I do not know.

I do not know for what I am waiting to actualize – but now the waiting feeling is visceral. It has been in the past, but I’ve just associated that with being home. Now that I’ve got this tangible feeling in a place where I thought all I could do was good – all I thought I could do was help – I no longer feel that home is the only place to wait away this time. To wait away my time.

As the time of change approaches, I am excited, as I always am, and promise to make the changes necessary to feel good, to feel happy, to feel as if I am myself. More often than not these promises are not fulfilled. This time I will try. Makes me wonder why I have to wait until I get home to try...