....It's Tuesday. It's been four days. I wrote Sam a letter today, and am working on one for Miranda, and maybe Anthony if I can find his address. Actually, I need to find Miranda's address too. Could be a small problem. The weight's still there. I've had no time to recover, as I'm having to dive right into school. Going to that place every day and having no one to talk to except myself is slightly depressing, considering that everything I think about revolves right around to what I don't want to think about. But in a small way I don't want to meet anyone, and that'll probably keep me from doing so. Secluding myself, staying locked up in my own little world with school work, books, and internet to keep me company...it's cowardly, but appealing.

*bangs head on keyboard* IhatethisIhatethisIhatethisIhatethisIhatethisIhatethisIhatethisIhatethis. I hate this. This feeling. This knowledge. This desperation. The temptation to hitchhike to Florida or Atlanta, to get away from this. It's incredible. After three weeks of being away I don't know this town anymore, and give even less of a crap about it then I did before. Perhaps it's cold and cruel of me, but I feel no attachment to any of the people I've met so far. While I was gone it feels like my mind was wiped clean, and I realized alot of what I'd found here. People I could associate with. Real friends? At most one or two. The one I know is a friend is now in Chattanooga about to start college anymore, so I won't see her anyway. It's a different feeling then when I first moved here. It's like the knowledge that this is just a stopping point has sunk in and become a full reality, and I can act like it.

Perhaps the opinion that the last two years of high school aren't that important is a passing fancy, and soon I'll be dying for companionship, but right now it doesn't seem like it.

*tear* I miss you guys....all of you...GA....TiP.....wherever you might be.....my mind is in pieces but you are still in the center, a piece which cannot be moved but can be cut, sliced, diced, squashed, and grated in the most painful ways possible each time I look at my termbooks from both places. I found a quote on a website yesterday that said for graduated fourth years, August would be a month of people asking them constantly, "Who died?". I wish I could express that. I wish I could see each and every one of you again, hug you, and tell you how much you all mean to me. It's strange, how indeed, distance makes the heart grow fonder. Perhaps I am a fool.