School is starting again tomorrow, and I'm nervous.
I'm trying not to panic, to be more optimistic about the new school year, but then optimism has never really been one of my strong points.
it's been a good holiday I think, and I wish it never had to end.
I went on a holiday, did a lot more baking, and read 5 new books.
I'm particularly proud of the books.
I used to love reading.
I mean, I still do, I love books and reading.
but before this holiday, it's been a little over 2 years since I've read a book, let alone 5.
me, the one who used to carry a book around everywhere, who once borrowed almost 20 books from the library to bring home to read.
I didn't really notice it, or maybe I just didn't want to.
my friends and I all love to read, it's one of the things that brought us together.
these past 2 years, I would hear them, see them, with new books and such and it saddened me.
you know, the part about losing interest in things you used to love never really hit me until I realized just how long it had been since I'd read a book.
and the weight of that realization hit me really hard.
to me, reading hadn't just been a hobby, a pastime I found pleasure in.
reading had been a part of my identity, an important part of myself that I'd lost.
and that's why I'm, well, proud of my accomplishment, of reading those new books, more than I care to let on really.

and yet, that usual specter of ____ continues to haunt me.
it's frustrating, but I don't know what to do.
will I never be free?