Return

This is a total coincidence, but I've just worked out that it was a year ago today that I left the United States. I remember that I arrived home on the coldest possible day. In keeping with that tradition, the past couple of weeks have been almost offensively bad.

I'm returning to this blog briefly to extract inspiration for my application to one of the creative writing courses at my university. I have two of them due on Friday, as well as another eight essays to mark; oh, dear, it's another one of those weeks. This year has been largely made up of those weeks, recently broken by debaucherous weekends, which make the weeks simultaneously easier and more difficult.

But last night was the first night that I have chosen to stay at home, not because of schoolwork, but just because. I was tired and it was cold. But also, the more I socialise, the more I feel like I don't have a self; my identity, my truth, exists in the way I present myself to others. I start to exist in the space between my body and the other person, rather than inside my head.