i live about fifteen hundred miles from home.

by home, i mean the place that i grew up, the place my family still lives. i'm not certain that i'll ever be back there, at least permanently, so in the sense that i'm not sure i'll ever be there again, it's not really home. some days, most days, in fact, i'm thankful for the distance, not that i'm glad to be away from everyone there or anything like that. it's funny because, in being gone, sometimes i think that going back would solve whatever minute problems i perceive arise in being away from there.

people say you can never go home again, and they're right, because if you do go back, you find that it's not really home anymore. i remember the first time i came home from school, at thanksgiving freshman year, and remember feeling like nothing had changed at all, but then subsequently realizing that three months of life had gone on, and gone on just fine without me. here lately, i've sort of been sobered by the knowledge that nothing there will ever be the same, which i guess is ok.

i'd probly be worried if nothing changed, so i s'pose it cuts both ways.

feeling: drained
thinking of: 24
music: "story of my life" social distortion