I'm finally at home.
When I was "home", I literally slept the entire weekend away because I couldn't stand it.
It just hurts too much to go back to a place you haven't been to in so long, and every thing is so familiar, yet you just can't picture yourself there anymore.
It's like the scenery pushed you out of view, and you can see whispers of yourself in every square inch, but when you try to inject your self you just feel dejected.
So I have come to the conclusion that home is more of a feeling than an actual place.
Still, it would be nice to walk those streets, my streets, and feel a sense of belonging.

On the flip side, I am at my real home, or rather my dubbed home.
The weather is finally picking up, and hints of spring is interjecting itself  into every day life and it's just fucking AWESOME.
Winter is always too long, but right when you cannot stand it anymore, a gentle breeze laps at your neck and you know that the wait is almost over.

....and as I type this, I can hear a cat barfing.
God damnit, cat, I'm trying to be deep here, and I can't do that with you horfing in the background.
I guess that's my cue to stop, aye?
Cheers.