In the past two weeks, we celebrated my mother's 50th birthday (she continues to look more beautiful than me) and said goodbye to my sister as she left for the homeland (oh, New Zealand, how I miss you). Everything seems to have come to a standstill now, however. Lethargy and boredom have swallowed my brothers and I - we're constantly waiting to do something or constantly waiting to sleep, whichever comes first. Being back home is this kind of waiting game in which you have to keep yourself busy, otherwise this awkward, uncomfortable feeling threatens to grab hold of you. There's something strange about being back under your parents roof. It's almost like you never left and, while being comforting, can also be really, really disheartening.
I've been reading a fair amount. Finished L. Hubbard's Fear, and now half way through Murakami's Norwegian Wood. Both are entertaining enough, though somewhat sad. Other than that though, that's my life. That's what I've been doing. Time moves so fucking slowly over here (and at times, too fucking fast).
Posted by Macy