September 2, 1994 – Friday – 9:22 a.m.

I’ve already been to two classes this morning.  I’m listening to a song, and well, for some odd reason I’m thinking of Veronica.

This really shouldn’t be happening.  My life is here now.  I can’t be worrying about home.  I’m tempted to go back and read some of my previous Books of Days, but the more I think about it, the more I realize how much it will hurt.

I can’t go back, I can only go forward.  It seems like I’ve been here for months, but I’ve only been here a week.

This has been one long week.

And it’s not even over yet.

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