A long long time ago I wrote a post about how I liked staying away from home. Three years, a near death experience (that may be a little exaggeration) and one chronic illness later I am again staying away from home and I hate it. I can’t even work out why I don’t like it.
It’s almost as if I’ve become too accustomed to living with my parents and being around my stuff and my books and my dogs. I feel like this is the sort of thing I’m going to have to get used to at some point. I mean I can’t stay with my parents forever, but I hate this. Whatever this weird thing is I’m feeling.
Incase you haven’t already guessed I’m back at college so posts may be a little weird till I can get back in a proper blogging routine.