Time Creeps

In the absence of my wave-poster, my room carries a sad emptiness, and lacks energy or life. Just the feeling of moving out lingers. I wish I could put those sentences into more beautifully constructed thoughts, but I can't at the moment. Both because I don't have the creative spark or vocabulary at hand, and because this emptiness consumes me. 

On one hand it's peaceful without items in here. I hate having so much stuff around. The blank walls, my blanketless bed, my completely visible, gray linoleum floor that I hate so much…it all comes together to form the need for me to create my own inner nest, where I'm safe and happy. 

My emotions these past few weeks remind me of those big, black Carpenter Bees. The ones that are blind and always crash into things, then quickly change paths. They definitely bumble around. First I had a wave of anger at my studies, mixed with a deep repulsion, and desire to throw up, followed by a resolute decision to change. I then seemed to dip into a pool of restlessness and desire to move out as fast as possible, this was complimented by an inconsolable boredom. Then a sudden terror grabbed me, as I waited, wrapped up in all my jackets and scarves at a snowy bus-stop. I could do nothing but cry, but my winter gear hindered my tears from being visible to the outside world. I suppose it was fear mixed with sadness and utter confusion. After a day I allowed the fear to subside, then I scooped it up and put it into a tiny box. I let the sadness be overcome by the joy to go home, and by the thought of imminent wind and sunshine. And now I'm left with a sort of hollow contentment, or maybe it's sleepiness. I'm not sure if I can tell those emotions apart anymore. Actually it's not sleepiness if I ask myself honestly. No, it's pure exhaustion. Closing my eyes, I can actually feel the stress on my bones, where my aching, frost touched muscles pull tightly. My face is tied up in knots behind my skin. My eyes feel like clams. 

The only thing propelling me is the prospect of going home. Every time an icicle forms  under my dripping nose, I want to curl up and cry… but somehow the counting makes things manageable. 10 more days, 9 more days, today we're at 8 more days until I can go home. Go home without limits or deadlines. Just go home and hopefully come back to a state of rest and clarity.