To go home, to not go home. This is what is currently occupying me. I think I'm worried that I haven't changed&grown&learned as much as I'd like to think. But, hm. Oh Diaryland, I don't know. It's plaguing me like this morning's English quiz, wherein I read the required parts of Jazz last week, came to the class all proud and prepared, forgot everything and answered two out of ten questions. Then, I sat there thinking 'I am better than this'. Except, no. I am not.

Today, my mum sent me some books, and my dad called. And if home is where the heart is, then I feel close to dead because I'm the kind of person that leaves things. Eventually, though, I'll run out of things to quit and give up on, and end up ghostly and dislocated, even to myself.

Please excuse the precedent loss of self-confidence; It's just that I've had that sentence in my head all day, and I really quite like it.