Driving home for Christmas.

My Dad is on his way, driving down the M3 in the rain with the boot of the car already folded down in preparation for the massive bag of stuff I'll be putting in there later. I'm sitting at my desk in my little room, eating leftover food, listening to Christmas music/watching old Vlogbrothers videos, and glancing over at said massive bag, lying empty on my bed.

A psychologist would have a field day with me, to quote one of my old teachers. I don't want to leave, but I absolutely one hundred per cent never-been-so-sure-of-anything do. I want to be home, sitting in front of the fire with my family, all idyllic and sweet. I want to go out and get drunk with my best 'home friends'. I want to watch Elf, and all the Christmas specials on the BBC. I'm so ready, just not in the physical sense as that massive bag is empty and I'm sitting procrastinating almost as much as I do when essay-writing. 

It feels good to be writing again. I've been putting off blogging, due to work and a host of personal issues (some of which I'm not even sure I can blog about, which as you can imagine is infuriating for me), and I've missed it terribly. I hate checking my Blogger page and seeing the last post dated almost a week ago. It really is a nightmare.   Anyway, I have a few things to write about now, not to mention my annual personal accounts of Christmas Eve/Day and my New Years Resolutions. Bring on the writing!

Now, I'm bidding farewell to my little room. Goodbye, fairy lights. Goodbye, sad bare trees outside. Goodbye, stack of books in the corner which will definitely not fit into even the most massive of bags. Goodbye, 500 Days Of Summer poster. Goodbye, bottles of Malibu and Jack Daniels... Oh no wait, you're coming home with me! See you all in early January; II'll have lots more stuff from Christmas, I'll have learnt ALL my Shakespeare lines, and I'll be big as a house after being fed properly at home.


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