Question Mark Is Apparently Two Words

So it's summer now, which is interesting. I've been home for about a week and a half, searching for some kind of meaning in the word "home." I'm quickly learning that, though I told myself I would never consider Cedar Rapids, Iowa a home, it has become one none the less. At this point I feel like maybe I identify more with that home than I do my Minnesotan life.

This could possibly stem from the fact that no one else is home right now, and I still don't have a job to provide me with financial support for the next twelve months. This is worrisome, and means that my days currently consist of television, reading, guitar playing, making mix cds, and a whole lot of time alone with my thoughts, which is terrifying.

I think about relationships a lot, probably because I am in that interesting place known to most as college. I've come to the realization that there are very (very) few women at my college that I have an honest interest in when it comes to my romantic side. That is not to say there are none, but I can count those that do walk my campus on one hand with more than one finger to spare. Am I just too picky? Is that a bad thing?

The bigger question is this. Every time I come home, my long interest in a female here crops up again. I finally decided to just tell her how I felt and was met with optimistic responses. But I'm going to be gone from home again in just over three months. After that, I'm not sure I'm coming home for the following summer. Is this really the best time to push the cart that is this possible romance along? Is there such thing as a best time? Can I write a blog that doesn't include an asinine amount of questions?

This year's graduation hit me harder than I expected. I kept telling myself that, like the female prospects of my campus, the graduating seniors this year that I was close friends with were minimal in number. That however didn't ease the fact that, though there were fewer of them, I was far more emotionally connected to them then those who left me last year. My goodbyes were quick and in many cases non-existent. I'm a big boy and I'll peddle through it, but it still pulls at me.

I am beginning to believe more and more that the Tralfamadorian time Kurt Vonnegut describes in Slaughterhouse Five is entirely accurate. I've used in in countless conversations with friends about why we make the seemingly rash decisions that we make. I've used it, at times, to justify my own actions. It works. Read up.

And for the love of god, where can I find a job?