Last night, around 4 AM when I was STILL writing my paper for Mythology (which turned out horribly, worst paper I’ve written in years), it dawned on me that I was not writing nearly enough. SO I’M BACK.

I’ll be honest, times are still tough. I’m being challenged in ways that I never have been, but most of those challenges are hardly anything monumental. I haven’t been to visit my Grandpa in weeks, which I really need to change. That challenge is really the only one, but I can avoid it outside of my mother’s eyes. Children turn into adults, who hopefully get the chance to live their dreams before they grow old and die. My Grandpa got to live his dreams, my mom says. It’s supposed to be a comfort, and it is. But that comfort all but disappears when I’m sitting next to his lazy chair, next to what remains of the cancer ridden bones and blood of Charles Earle Moody. His wife, my grandmother, jabbering about this and that, when I know that neither of them have left that house in days and can’t stop thinking about how mobility used to be their constant. And they’re so young, when I really think about it, barely a score older than my own parents.

Valencia is still school. I should be working a lot harder. I’ve lost a lot of my drive, a sad change that will hopefully be corrected next fall at UCF. What’s the difference though, really? It’s what I make it and always has been, I’ve known that.

So here I am, at Lee’s apartment, contemplating my decisions and studying Bio with a beer in my hand. I’m trying not to make too many plans. But I know it’s time for a change. It’s always time for a change with me, stagnancy has never been the objective. I hope it all works out.

I hope I figure out just what it is that I want to “work out.” But in the meantime, I’m here. And I know it could be much, much worse.