Sunday, June 1

It feels strange getting back home. Back to the incessant classical my dad refuses not to listen to, back to the incredibly dull airport of Eppley, back to the dim-witted airport management that puts unclaimed bags from an earlier flight right in front of the conveyor belt so that nobody on the current flight can get to their bags easily, back to the weird smells of this place that we'd gotten used to before, back to Internet access, and back to undoubtedly boring days sitting in front of my computer screen while nothing happens.

That's not to say that I'm upset to be back; I couldn't be happier. I'm just not that happy about it to begin with. As I always say, the usual distinguishing factor between one summer and the last is how much older I am. Of course, this year holds promise to be different: I know that I at least have a job to look forward to, and assuming my parents buy a new car, I'll have the old one at least in time for next semester, but how long will it take before those things lose their novelty?

I really shouldn't complain. I know that my job will keep me busy as long as I'm there, and if my parents realize that I'm twenty by the time this year's Pride festivites roll around, I might just be out for those (HA!). And there'll probably be opportunities to get out of the house when I can bankroll gasoline.

I just hope that there's more to look forward to this summer than serving hamburgers to people, is all.