The floor of my room is scattered with clothes I don't wear; The glove compartment of my car serves as a lackluster photobook of faces I never see anymore.
I sometimes lie about having to work, because I'd rather stay at home and watch a movie; I don't want people to plead with me, because I can't say "no" as easily as I used to.
There's not really any love interests for me back home; only girls that I'm physically attracted to.
There's a handful of kids whom I can't stand.
I've gotten through 5 ENTIRE TV series on Netflix since returning from school in May. I'm clearly bored.
I find myself clinging to a lot of vices; finding solace in a routine that I don't even find enjoyable. It's just... routine.
I make too much music.
I officially have nine days left of residence in Eagan. Next summer I'll be staying up at school; hopefully getting an internship so I can do something FUCKING useful to give back to this annoying ass society. I keep lusting more and more independence in my life; I think that's a sign of some sort. I don't know, though.
I love words. It's cool... I started out this blogpost by looking at my empty laundry basket, and by the end of this post you're going to think I'm a cryptic, self-loathing douche. That's fine though, most of you are temporary. The good ones will stay; they know who they are.
Two years and nine months from now I will have graduated college. I will be packing up my car, and heading to California. If I have a friend in the passenger seat, that'd be dope. If I don't, that's alright. I'm gonna make something of my life. I'm pumped for that.
I will probably come back to Minnesota during Christmas time, spend it with my lovely mother and hopefully-less-anal dad. I love my family.
I think it's time to move on; I feel like Red at the end of Shawshank. Now go back and read this post in a Morgan Freeman voice.
-Jack
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