Travelwriter

There must be something about airports and airplanes that is somehow conducive to writing. Every time I travel, especially while I’m sitting in the airport waiting for the plane (except for this trip, where I was apparently so tired that I slept for the hour before boarding without noticing that I slept), I have some overpowering urge to write something down. Silly observations, blog-style essays, or work on one of my eight-million fictional projects that just never seem to get done.

As it is, I’ve just written another six hundred words for the short story I’ve been working on (which is incidentally as yet untitled), and I’m actually reasonably happy with what came out. For a batch that large, that’s a pretty decent showing.

I had to say goodbye to Tom and Andy this morning, them being the people whose flat I’ve crashed at for the past few days. I’m excited to be home, but in more of a getting grounded sort of way than out of any real exuberance for returning to what my life was like before I left this past August.

Traveling and studying abroad has been essentially the most amazing experience, and I’m so glad that not only did I talk myself into applying for the program, but that I talked myself into really going to enjoy it. It some strange ways I felt almost more at home in Sussex than I do at Oxy, which is something I should definitely work on when I get back to school.

Either way, I’m looking forward to seeing a lot of the people I’ve met again (which will happen at some point) and the fact that I now have places to bum housing in Iceland, Belgium, Germany, Afghanistan, and all over England. Traveling is so cool.

But for now I’m home.