we're not in kansas anymore

I may be lost now that i've been here enough to know where i am. My bed feels too comfortable, my clothes too worn in, my thoughts too premeditated. I've established a routine that i already need to break, and considering the last time i went to the gym was during 'nam, i really don't think i have to upper arm strenth to break it. It's kind of like high school again, with less bells telling me where to go and when. I wish i scheduled my classes earlier in the morning so i could sleep through some of them, instead of sleeping whilst i'm in them. The chairs there don't really welcome a quality hour and a half nap. Maybe i need to wander more, but the moment i begin to wander my wandering mind comes right back into the frigid -4 degree reality. So because physical wandering proved too arctic and difficult, i tried some mental wandering, which was easy since i can't really find myself right now. Somehow i ended up cyberly wandering and accidentally stumbling upon an application for a custodial job at the League (i'm not quite sure how i got there or who exactly filled out the form. i may have been sedated at the time, but now soberly i still kind of hope i get it. i'd be oh-so katie holmes in Mad Money, jamming out to my walkman that i have yet to aquire and pushing carts around). The worst part is that i expect my friends here to help find me, because that seems like a fairly friendly thing to do, but i guess i'm not giving them much to work with. Even back at home too many people told me i'm to distant, although i seem so close, to be readable at all. I just wish i could be written down by someone somewhere so that i could glance at this intangible book every once in a while, you know, just for reference sake. I can't stop making The Wizard of Oz connections in my head, but i should let it be known i hate small dogs, my group does not consist of any particularly furry, metalic or straw characters, and i would look ridiculous in a plaid-blue dress. Dorthy really got lucky with that one yellow road, i mean, there were a limited amount of wrong turns she could take. But she did have her downfalls every once in a while (mostly i'm refering to her minor opium addiction. i can't really blame the girl, everybody loves poppies). I should show up to one of those infamous little-people conventions (sorry if i offended any rouge migit out there reading my rambling. i don't know the proper PC terminology. i'd never fit in) i've always heard of, hoping maybe they can tell me exactly which color of brick road to follow. Why the fuck is everyone around me normal sized? They're useless.