We had a mini-discussion on transcendentalism and beat-generation poetry today in lit.
I brought out my journal and Jack Kerouac’s Book of Sketches and went at that discussion hard.
Now i’m suffering the consequences: sulking in my room with serious wanderlust. 
I just want to pack up my journal, some clothes, and my books and go. Seriously. Anywhere. I’ll jump trains, hitchhike, whatever it takes. I just want to actually go and experience the world. Jacksonville is giving me cabin fever.
There is so much out there, and I’m stuck here.