One day leads into another

Monday. A fresh start a new week to start over with a new beginning. Not so fast. It seems that one day seems to be the same as the next. There is never a fresh start because it is hard to tell where the beginning and where the end have occurred. Living in the South has been an adjustment and maybe my confusion of days is because I am bored or maybe because I am this is the definition of insanity. I am not used to being put down because of where I am from. I am also not used to having nothing to do on a Thursday afternoon. I wonder if my life is passing me by or this is just all something I can add to my book. I keep myself hidden from people only revealing parts of myself because I would rather not be that close to anyone here. What kind of existence is this? Is this what happens when you move six hundred miles from the only thing you have ever known I guess.