Everything's got a moral, if only you can find it.

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

- "He  Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven" by W.B. Yeats

So, W.B. Yeats writes some amazing poetry. I think he might be my favorite. Or possibly just one of my favorites. I think that one's dreams is the best one could possibly offer someone else. I guess that's sort of the point. Oh look at me being a literature major even in my time off.

Being home is still difficult. Dad is sick, mom is worried, and the family is barely functioning as usual. I am still missing my babies at school and it's making me sick with how much I can feel the lack of their presence. Oh well. C'mon Dormouse, just buck up and deal with it.

-The Dormouse

Was I the same when I got up this morning?

So here I am. Back home. It's warm, it's sticky, and I'm done with it. Having to be home and watch my dad wander around the house looking ill. He's so thin and so tired. It's too hard for me. Work starts tomorrow. At least work will get me out of the house. I will refrain from complaining about my job via internet because I don't want to lose it.

So now what? I'm home and school is over until August and I've got to figure out how to live thousands of miles away from my friends. This is always the hardest time of year. I always want to be anywhere but here. Of course, this is the only option I've got. Just need to keep thinking to myself I'm only here for a month. Only one month and then off to England.

But here I am, in the middle of nowhere, waiting for my trip to England to arrive. Meanwhile I miss my boyfriend, I miss my girlfriends, I miss my S. (I don't even know what else to call him at this point), I miss New York and the people I can tell all my secrets to. Because that's been the most upsetting thing since I've been back. I'm bursting with secrets and there's no one to tell them to. I want to burst with everything I've done at school, with how fabulous and conflicted and confused and wonderful I feel. So who wants to know what I'm about to explode with?

I want to be in the world, not out here in the middle of nowhere. There's so much out there and so little here. I'm bored and lonely and it's only been a few days. Goddess please let the summer go by quickly. If it doesn't I think I'll simply melt. How melodramatic of you Dormouse, just buck up and deal with it. Figure out how to exist here or you're going to lose it.

-The Dormouse

"And the mome raths outgrabe..."

Another day, another paper, and another several hours spent in the library desperately seeking research. And once again I find myself too distracted to actually get down to it and do my work. The more I keep trying to figure out how to write the diary of an eighteenth century French prostitute the more I find I cannot focus on my assignment. Perhaps someone should inform professors that they simply cannot assign papers during the last week of classes. What I turn in tomorrow will inevitably be absolute crap. At least it's only around four or five pages for each of the two assignments due tomorrow. I wish someone would simply invent a pill one could take which would force one not to procrastinate.

The weather outside is beautiful, I haven't got a single class today, and instead of having fun I am in the library attempting to make myself sound competent on the topic of eighteenth century prostitutes. It isn't working so far. I want to be outside in the sun. It's too depressing in this library. Everyone looks anxious, I suppose it's just that time of year. I feel like I'm about to crack. I hate this project, I hate not being sure I'm going to pass this academic year, I hate the pressure heaped upon students every year. It's insane.

-The Dormouse