Homesickness and Wasted Money

While I have a few moments in class, I will take this opportunity to examine something that fervently affects everyone at some point during their adventures.

Today's topic is...

Homesickness.

The funny thing about homesickness is that it hits a person in waves. Somedays, you don't even think about home because you're too busy to have time to. Somedays, you want to kill the next person you see unless they'll beam you back to the States. It's a silent, unpredictable affliction that can neither be avoided nor defeated.

During days of the hardest barrages of nostaglia, one might wish to take a walk by themselves, cry, or spew their undirected rage at anything that seems to be "looking for it."

I've had my share of battles with this disease and can honestly say that when this trip is over, I am going to kiss the ground of Massachusetts.

Three more weeks of exile.

And now! To cheer you all up!

Where My Money is Going

When the sun is shining

You should not be whining

But in this land

There is always a hand

To bring back the dark

With a cigar spark

Because she doesn't care

Isn't really there

So why should I try?

Take part in a lie?

When even the leader

Is an empty word feeder

To our hungering minds

That are depressed to find

That all of this talk

Is as dense as a rock

That there is no better

Than an obscure letter

A mark of unclarity

And comments of sparity

For the price we are paying

We should all be saying

"Fuck you, rock."

-An Original Poem By Me, Ya?