Time is there, those six months, there on my calendar, crossed out days, large Xs in bold and the pages dripping from the walls from the dry weather. And though time is moving swiftly, I know how long I must spend here. I know there will be happy times, less happier times, and then those dreadful days where I miss the place I called home. Then again, that home is definitely indefinite and non-existent. It is merely a symbol and I remember once asking a friend, “Have you ever told yourself, ‘I want to go home’ only to realize that you actually were home, in that physical sense anyways. I’ve always had this idea where the concept of home is not that of a structure, but more of an emotional state. A home feels comfortable, a home has the people you love and the people you hate can never enter there, and even if they did, it wouldn’t matter because the amount of happiness that home makes you feel outweighs those things that haunt you. I’m not homeless, but I sure do feel that way sometimes.

I miss some of the antics. I miss the looking at your neighbor and wondering if they’re thinking what you’re thinking. However, the mysteriousness of this new place, the mysteriousness of me, is appealing. I only wish I had more time. I only wish I could move and speak a bit more freely. Check out that muffler.

There’s a girl who says the most obnoxious and inappropriate comments. Her inability to converse leaves me annoyed and frustrated. She told me the other day as I was entering the toilet and she was leaving that she was only checking to see if her “flow” had come. Why why why why. Idiot girl. Images implanted and things I must make peace with. I don’t think I’m a very hateful person, but her oddities make suicide a viable answer.

On a lighter note, America during Christmas is in the future. I look forward to seeing my beautiful friends and my wonderful family. Even more, I want to see my dog and make him sit on my lap and lie still.