I’ve been back East for a month, nearly. I had to look up the dates; time has concurrently flown by and crawled and because of it I don’t know midnight from noon or Saturday from Tuesday. Not things to be proud of, I know.

The first weeks back were the lamest, by far. I would use the guise of jet lag to sleep until 1 or 2 p.m., swapping my bed for the couch to watch Law & Order and Lifetime movies. I wasn’t all sloth—I’d take the dog out a few times in there, get dressed in time for mom to come home from work. I’d help with dinner and head upstairs for a nap, where I’d stay up until 4 a.m. looking for jobs online, book-marking many and applying for none. Eventually I would give up and fall asleep with all the lights on. Wake, repeat. It was disgusting.

So I jumped ship. I caught a ride to Charlottesville, arriving in the middle of the night during birthday festivities. I stayed three days, checking in with all of my favorite people. Yes, they all still were breathing fine, ticking along. And check, my life there was gone. Glad that was settled. In my head—paradise. In reality—get me out of here, it’s been played. I said my hellos, skipped the goodbyes and headed north.

After a night in DC, I hopped a bus to NYC. When I was in LA, I was sure that New York was where I really wanted to be, my “ideal.” New York is fantastic, fabulous, lovely. I spent my days wandering around the city by myself and my nights with good friends. I wish I could say I did a lot of soul searching when I traipsed around the city, but I didn’t. Frankly I don’t know what I thought about. I looked at people’s faces. Enjoyed the nice weather and the grand old buildings. Got lost. Not a bad way to spend free time. Not productive, but not necessarily counter-productive.

This morning I woke up and came home. A young woman of questionable decisiveness comes of age, take three.