The difference twenty four hours makes

Being gone is better than being home.

I have been home for twenty seven minutes, and I want to go again.

Marvelous plans from now until Saturday afternoon?

None.

I already took an inventory of my bruises and scrapes.

Didn't get any mail, so none to reply back to.

My room is clean.

Twenty four hours ago I was painting decorations for the cabins.

Now I am watching soccer with my brother.

Last night the girl nicknamed Chuck asked me if I was going to sleep. She reminded me in my drowsy state to take off my glasses.

Tonight Chuck's going to the beach in her respective city, and I'll lie in bed in my pjs and realize that no one notices or cares that I'm there.

Last night I went to get a tea from the kettle in the dining hall and three people said hello and started chatting with me.

Tonight I will walk around unnoticed.

If only you knew how shocking it was, how shocking it is to come home.

I am going over the moments in my head, of all the things that I have done in the past 10 days.

Life ain't easy for anyone.

But it's especially not easy like this.

I'm not a drinker,

But I might need a drink.