Holidays

I hate this house. The bitterness, the hypocrisy, the way it just sort of sucks out any energy you might have had to do anything constructive with all of the time you've been given off of school. I don't want to sew, I don't want to read, I don't want to write, I don't want to draw, I don't even want to play my guitar, for chrissake. And that isn't normal. It's like the opposite of having a muse, this antithesis to creativity is my bane every December its the same. Moving back into the dorms is only a week and a half away, and I feel like I'll be holding my breath until then. Its like high school, only worse, because now I know I don't have to put up with this shit.

I've played through twelve or so hours of warcraft, I've worked enough to pay for my books, I've blown shit up, fired spuds and pickles and tennis balls with hairspray and model rocket components and calcium carbide until I can smell the acetylene leaking from the smoking firing hole, and still I can't shake this oppressive, leeching worm that is my parents' house.

And I miss Steph. With every breath I miss her. I live for that singular instant in the morning as I wake up, and I think that all I need do is roll over and she'll be right there. But then I remember, and it takes an incredible act of willpower not to just roll over and fall asleep again until the eleventh.