sort of.

I was reading 'Killing Yourself to Live' today and fell asleep. Not that Chuck Klosterman's books are boring, I was just sleepy. He's actually a genius without trying to be. I had the weirdest dreams, about everything I've ever subconsciously wanted, hated, and miss all at once in a period of about 5 hours until I woke up just in time for dinner. It was raining and I was in a car most of the time, talking and frowning, and texting.
Anyways, cleaning out my room is a long process and really bittersweet. Old camp letters, birthday cards from when I was turning 5, stupid things I saved that remind me of people I care(d) about. Most of it is in a pile outside my door or in drawers/the trashcan now. I feel like I'm on my deathbed, because that's what people make me feel like. "We have to hang out one last time before you go." But it's a good thing. Rebirth. I cleaned off all the writing on my mirrors and walls. 2 more weeks.

"We're all tourists, sort of. Life is tourism, sort of. As far as I'm concerned, the dinosaurs still hold the lease on this godforsaken rock."

-Chuck Klosterman.