Gloomy

It's an overcast day in the Inland Empire. I'm drinking coffee at a local shop and beginning my work on finals for my last quarter. I'll be graduating in June as Kristina R. Rhuman M.A. As I use this weather to do what it calls me to do - contemplate - my arms are sore as I type from the spin class I went to this morning, strange it's my arms and not my legs. I excepted to see my friends, but saw no familiar faces. But it didn't bother me much, because I know those faces aren't far away. If I call they will come. And that is more than enough. I've lived here in the IE for 9 months now. My skin is sun-tinted and my freckles are loud. My hair is longer and sun bleached from the days spent at the beach. When I think about turning 26 next month I feel determined and scared. Even worse is my thoughts on June, where will I go when my student loans are no longer deferred and Cambodia calls me to come home.The past 9 months have gone by too fast. I'd like 10 minutes where I stare at the clock wondering why it's stuck and time doesn't move, like the days when I had "time-out" and time stood still like a disciplining parent. Or when I was 10 and counted down the days till I would be 16 and driving, because then I could drive myself to the hair salon and get my hair chopped and styled without my mother's consent. Now, what would I give to keep that precious resource - time. The days are getting longer and it seems like there's more time, but somehow I'm always too optimistic. Like right now, putting off writing this research proposal to babble on about my love for my home of 9 months, the fear of leaving, and my optimistic time sensing. How does anything ever get done on gloomy days like these?