I thought I could. Oh man, I thought I could do this whole living in Hobart thing.  It'll be an awesome experience, a once in a lifetime opportunity, it's only for a few years while I'm at uni; all stupid things I once said. I can't do this. It's ironic isn't it? I live on an island and I feel completely isolated. Isn't that meant to be the point? 

Its Wednesday, July 22nd at 8pm. I'm lying in my bed eating ice cream and crying. Pathetic really. There are much bigger problems in the world and here I am crying over the fact that I'm just missing home. I'm becoming more and more distant from my friends and I hate it. Not that it's my main problem (and probably due to my constant eating of ice cream) but I'm currently at the heaviest I've ever been. Normally that would bother me, but it truly doesn't - I have no one to impress. 

So, here I am. Writing a pathetic blog post in some stupid attempt to explain my absence and rant about how I need to go home. About how 3 weeks in and I'm done, I need to go home, I can't do this.