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tabular_rasaOh, guys, it feels so good to be home, and I've only been here an hour!
The house smells vaguely piney and just how I remember, only so much more pungent in its absence as I realize what I have been missing, now.
The stairs are steeper.
My bed is freaking LOW. Wow for lofted beds. WOW. I didn't realize this would look that different, lol . . .
In fact, my entire room seems weird and alien, even though it is totally not that weird and alien or different since the way that I have left it. It just seems older, more fragile, more wooden-- more like a preserved-museum-version of my room than my room itself. It's also so sterile and so bare, really . . .
Weirdest of all, though, is the computer, of course; the keyboard is a different COLOR, even, and the thing is about a million times slower, but, eh . . .
. . . but I am home.
Forget the fruit, Keith. It's sitting in the kitchen with a glass of milk. Milk from a family-sized gallon from a personal fridge, Burger Dairy or something and not those ridiculous milk chugs with the labels that would sooner kill you than be removed and allow you to recycle the container. It tastes slightly warmer, and sweeter, somehow-- less sterile.
HOLY SHIT THAT REMINDS ME I NEED TO GET POPCORN CAKES THEN AND ONLY THEN WILL MY LIFE BE COMPLETE!!!
(I am also caught up with NaNo-- AHEAD, actually, for the first time in the month since the VERY first day, because of . . . reasons . . . lol-- so: WOOT!!!)
The house smells vaguely piney and just how I remember, only so much more pungent in its absence as I realize what I have been missing, now.
The stairs are steeper.
My bed is freaking LOW. Wow for lofted beds. WOW. I didn't realize this would look that different, lol . . .
In fact, my entire room seems weird and alien, even though it is totally not that weird and alien or different since the way that I have left it. It just seems older, more fragile, more wooden-- more like a preserved-museum-version of my room than my room itself. It's also so sterile and so bare, really . . .
Weirdest of all, though, is the computer, of course; the keyboard is a different COLOR, even, and the thing is about a million times slower, but, eh . . .
. . . but I am home.
Forget the fruit, Keith. It's sitting in the kitchen with a glass of milk. Milk from a family-sized gallon from a personal fridge, Burger Dairy or something and not those ridiculous milk chugs with the labels that would sooner kill you than be removed and allow you to recycle the container. It tastes slightly warmer, and sweeter, somehow-- less sterile.
HOLY SHIT THAT REMINDS ME I NEED TO GET POPCORN CAKES THEN AND ONLY THEN WILL MY LIFE BE COMPLETE!!!
(I am also caught up with NaNo-- AHEAD, actually, for the first time in the month since the VERY first day, because of . . . reasons . . . lol-- so: WOOT!!!)
