I'm in love with how you feel

I have been a busy bee this past month. College seems to be coming into itself and it's acting as it should; how it was promised that it would be. I have freedom and friends and fun. I have a routine of class, then lunch with Karen and a nap (or work), then dinner with the gang (where we proceed to stay at dinner hours after we have finished actually eating dinner) then a rousing old time at the gym, followed by a shower and either homework or chillin' in Dave's room until about 2am. It sounds melancholy, but it's really fun to go about my life in such a manner. The eighteen manner. Let's just act my age, not my waist size (teehee). A way in which my worries are limited (though I'm always stressed) and my existence is to have fun. And build friendships with people that I will probably never see again if I/we transfer. And don't forget building muscle and self-esteem and hearts and minds and souls and laughter and lungs. I will collapse. Hofstra was not a mistake though it is crazy expensive and it was not my first choice. I learned more here outside of the classroom than I did inside (that's for shizzle), yet it was all worth it. Time away from home and friends at home was and is worth it. We all appreciate eachother more this way. If I only come home every three weeks and stay for a day or two, it's okay. No one suffers without me. I don't suffer without them. I am growing. I am this little growing bud and the college experience was just spring time, shedding just enough light and sprinkling just enough rain on me to help me sprout spiritually and mentally. It's just a Patchogue thing to feel left behind. To feel like suburbia is the only thing that sucks in your life and it chains you down to the pavement and nothing ever changes. The lens is always blurry when things are the same. Let's all breathe in some NYC pollution and inhale cigarette smoke (maybe even some weed) and we're all just charming and snazzy. We can snuggle and cuddle and love and hate and drink and kiss and it's okay. Home is where the roots are, and I trip on them from time to time. I notice such a difference from Fran there and Fran here. Mostly when I'm home for too long and I'm just melancholy. Nothing is melancholy here. Time doesn't drag. I dont feel as awkward or imperfect. I'm just me and I'm accepted by hands and knees and tummies and legs. It's all okay. It's all just okay. Let's just sing and dance together, eh? Maybe I'll sing for everyone but Matt, eh? =)