And the flashing cursor on the screen can't seem to do much but make me wonder and sit in beleaguered confusion. A little stream of consciousness will help me sort it out.
I started writing. Really. Writing.

Right now I'm sitting on my bed. I've been here for a while. I pass and repass my life. I tried to play saxophone but the echo in my room made me a little uncomfortable. Martin only has a certain amount of time left before he takes his exam and there's a very excitable dog downstairs that won't leave my notes alone.

It's interesting that my grandparents took a dive as soon as I got here.

Loneliness has started to set in a little heavier. Today I had my first experience of the unnerving teaching of English to students that don't care as much as I do about the subject.

I don't think I'll ever forget the experience. The details aren't exactly really important to me.

I'm writing a letter to someone who I, as I do all too well, burned contact with. I probably will never send it. We'll see.