So. here I am on wednesday, and I leave on Monday. The thought of moving away from home scares, excites, thrills, saddenes, and enthralls me. Basically, it turns me into a giant emotional ooze. I think I'm ready, but who the hell knows. I could get home sick and miss everything here (Thats a probabilty, since I'll miss my friends and cats). I may start to think of Miami as "home", and St. Louis as the place I visit in the summer. I could die in the drive down there- I dunno. But I know I won't miss my mothers nagging at me, or getting volenteered to organize float trips that everyone bows out of at the last moment. (gr.)

So... I sit here, Wednesday night, with about 15 things that need doing, 5 of which I could be doing right now, and I find myself without the will to do any of it. I just want to sit here and type to this stupid little blog that no one cares about and pretend that I'm ready. Its not that I don't want to do them. I do, and I know I need to get moving on them. Its just... blarg. I'm tired and sad. I feel like a whole huge section of my life is ending (and it is), but that the one thats opening is so big, I simply cannot understand, or antipate it. But I dont want to let go of this part of my life because its safe- I know it intimatly. But this part coming up- I have no fuckin idea about. But I'm ready. And I'm excited. Reguardless of my doubts. I'm excited. :)

On the up side of things, Indy is currently sleeping in my lap. Awww.