When Charlie came and visited me this weekend at my apartment here at school I felt like I was on vacation. The whole time I felt like I’d be getting on the bus back to Michigan with him Sunday morning, too, instead of staying here. What is that? Why do events we’re dreading seem unreal like they won’t actually come to pass? Is it some kind of denial? Coping mechanism?
Whatever it is, I’m having a hard time sleeping now that the other side of my bed is empty. Here’s to hoping this week goes by fast.
