It’s finally Christmas break for me, after three weeks of waiting for exams to be scheduled, studying and not-studying, fending off the boredom and awkwardness that comes with having nothing to do but wait. Now that it’s here, I realize how difficult this term has been. I’ve made a few friends I think, although I’ve made more casual acquaintances that I know are just polite nods in the hallway born out of self-interest rather than genuine care. Nothing more to say on that, I do it too. It’s grown increasingly difficult in my home. I’m moving out in January. It’s time to move on. I don’t fit in here, I have different beliefs, different values, different opinions, and they rub wrong against the fundamental principles of the people I live with. I’m stagnating, and I know it, but I don’t want to leave my comfort zone. It’s cold outside. Too cold. I also don’t want to go home, the first time I’ve really felt this way over the holidays. I really mean it, I do not want to go home. I’m not even sure why. It’s going to be awkward. Things have changed, and I suppose I’ll have to sit through worn-out traditions I don’t like anymore, and try and put up with my farm allergies. At least I get to see my cat again, not that he really cares about who picks him up and feeds him so long as someone does. Annoying bastard. Cute though. I think I’ve lost something and I need to move on to find it. Existentialism isn’t a good fit for manic depressives, although paradoxically it seems to work out quite well for writers. Life is a continuum of conflicting desires and polarizing emotions. What can I say? I feel more and more drawn to old movies, foreign movies about war, death, the loss of innocence. I feel like I relate to mortality a lot more. I’m too young for that, I haven’t earned it yet. Yet I’m older than most of the people I know but I don’t want to be, so I tend to act younger to give myself some sort of… what? I don’t know. I hate authority. I don’t like mentors. I don’t want to be told what to do. I want to discover it for myself. Difficult to do when you’re broke, insufferably afraid to go outside, and constantly caught up in a cloud of despair. I feel like a Dostoyevsky character.

Then again, it is the longest night of the year, and I’ve only seen 2 hours of daylight today. Slept in again. Didn’t plan on that, but it happened. Daytime is usually better, but I prefer the night. Especially when it snows and the headlights of cars passing by illuminate just for a minute the road ahead and I can see for once where I’m going, even if I don’t know the destination. I feel much more at home with the snow than the sun, and for now, I’m grateful.