This place is dying, and empty. So many cousins grown up and moved out, even at the Jamiesons'. Are they all off somewhere right now? Or could it just be school. I don't know. I only ever look over there during the day...
Unfinished business still clings to me like cobwebs, but I feel the anxiety build again if I so much as think on their existence. Better that than the anxiety mirroring, though; the anxiety of the nothing that I'm currently responsible for. I work hard at avoiding both.
It hasn't even been quite a week yet, but I don't want to rest, like would be acceptable so soon out. I'm terrible at this, you know; only ever good at making plans when they've got absolutely no basis in reality. I'm slower at constructing my own life than I am even at the construction of my fictions. It's funny how I only realize this, sitting here writing that.
Half lying, actually; leaning back, couched, writing this on my Kindle, as I've been writing all my posts since arriving back home. Haven't booted my laptop back up since getting out of school; could have something to do with, avoiding everything, like I've written. I'd thought it was, pride or something, but this is actually beneficial to my writing, it being like this. The lack of ease in composing forces me to really consider my words, and I was just thinking about how good it would be to get to writing fiction like this as well, little scenes and tableaux and all.
I do have a writing blog, don't I.
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