Foul water from the Stream of Consciousness

So after getting home, sleeping off as much jet lag as possible, moving stuff into my new apartment, uploading all of my pictures onto Facebook, playing a couple of poker tournaments and modifying my Super Nintendo so it can play Super Famicom games, I've... found that I've not really had as much time to think about the last six weeks as I expected. I wonder why. I've been busy, certainly, but I've had plenty of chances to take the time to, say, start writing about what I thought about the last six weeks. But I've put it off and put it off, and here it's 5:30 in the morning and I'm putting it off still.

A shallow psychologist may say that I'm trying to avoid closure, because then I would have to admit that my trip wasn't the volcanic, life-changing event it seemed to be for so many other people in my group. I don't think that's right, though. I've never really been the kind of person for whom an event can change me instantly, dramatically, and forever. I've never really been someone who gets caught off-guard all that often, actually. There's no reason this should be any different, particularly when I spent too much time in my room doing that blasted homework anyway. Maybe I'm just overanalytical and lazy.

(More coherent and less introspective posting to come in about eight hours.)