150. Maybe it’s because I’m never f-ing home.

Labour Day Weekend has passed & school has officially started, which means that summer is over–at least for me it is. I’m sad about it, but also ready to get back into the school routine (complemented, of course, with a healthy dose of work).

Summer always seems to go by fast–too fast–& the older I get, the swifter it flies by. This year raced past especially quick, helped along by the fact that I spent most of it travelling around the country. From an impromptu road trip to Vancouver, to a mini trek to my parents’ lake lot in the Rockies, to my cross-country epic through the Canadian Shield to Toronto, I gave myself plenty of opportunities to wander the nation.

& it was awesome. But, as was pointed out by my BFF’s boyfriend on my most recent adventure, perhaps the reason a long-term relationship continues to elude me is due to the fact that I am never fucking home.

Ever.

I don’t give myself enough time in one place to even start a relationship, much less maintain one… which is exactly why the longest-standing, consistent interaction with the opposite sex was with my Second Cup barista (oh, how I miss those sweet, sweet London Fogs… nobody makes them like he does). & even then, I was never able to pull the trigger & actually fucking talk to the guy, so all that time was really time wasted (not actually though, because even seeing his beautiful face was reward enough if I’m being honest). But my point still stands–4 months is not long enough to do anything really romantic. & the rate at which I’m choosing to travel (when I’m not hibernating in homework) is seriously hindering my chances of securing the role as someone’s other half.

I embraced my inner nomad this summer, & that might have led me away from the future love of my life here at home… but I think that’s an opportunity I’m okay with missing. & besides, who knows what kind of hunky, man-bunned babe I might meet on the road–a girl’s got to keep her options open after all.

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