oh but he let me go

It's funny. I'm at home right now [obviously], but all the little voice in the back of my head can say is, "I wanna go hoooooommmmeeee." And I'm missing the other house like mad. I didn't want to move, I did everything possible to avoid it, but alas, wills and such demanded the move be made.

But there's something about growing up in a place where at least one of your parents sort of did, y'know? Hearing neighbors talk about a family member you never met and liking you simply for being related to someone they knew and liked... I also miss being able to walk around the house with my eyes closed and not having to worry about banging into something. Or the opium bed. Who the blue fuzzy wouldn't miss the opium bed? Also, who really grows up with an opium bed in the living room? Along with the piano, I mean.

Ah well. My feet hurt. Work was work. I wonder what the hell I did with my copy of The Beekeeper ... I know I had it semi recently because I listened to some of the songs. But where did I put it? *thinks*

oh, but he let me go sailing...

Chemical imbalance? Entirely probable. One minute I'm on the verge of tears, then I want to smash something [though I frequently move past tears to anger and then back again] and now... I'm happy again. Found my CD. It was in the bathroom on the chair for some odd-ass reason. Go figure.

Paja was sent on the 28th. So no use in stalking the mailman just yet. Woe! It looks like it'll be a race to see who gets here first, Paja from Hong Kong or Dido from Canadia. Any bets?

Ran out of Aunt Dimity books to read. Tis a shame. I love them so, 'specially Reginald and Bertie.

Kay. Mail stalkage, then sleep. *yawn*