My last Sunday before leaving the nest. The university years lie ahead. Having taken a full three years longer than most to get there, I can confidently say it’s long overdue. Though I’m glad I had the chance to get some experience in the workplace, see a little of the world, and give my literary career the kick-start I was determined to give it, I grow weary of hearing of my old schoolmates’ graduation parties.
Finally, I can get my teeth sunk into something academically substantial.
I’ve celebrated in the only way that seems right: by indulging in one of Mum’s incredible roasts, having a slice of cake, and sitting back on a giant cushion to finish off Moby Dick. Right now, I type this on that very cushion, and plan to make a speedy exit, with the sole intention of entering back into the White Whale’s world for the last time, and stewing in that blissful glow that always comes after too many roast potatoes.
Next Sunday is my move-in date. Therefore my next entry may be even shorter. Or it may not come at all. In any case, the next time I make an entry, I shall be situated in my new home, and will have crossed a threshold, unto a new part of my life.
For the time being, my thoughts are with my book, as it pokes its heads above the trenches of the publishing arena; with Ahab, and his plight to be rid of all the woe and strife embodied in that white Leviathan; and with the trembling pyramids of pots, pans, and textbooks, teetering in the garage, waiting.
‘Till next time, adieu.