you can't go home again I remember that first night in this room. The place has cold, hard tile floor throughout, so frou slept on the air mattress and I slept on my yoga mat. It was terribly uncomfortable, and I opted for the couch the next night. The couch in this place is one of those 2-part, angled units - it came with the place, so one can only imagine the history and cleanliness of the piece (no offense to Tom, who lived here before me - I'm assuming the couch has a longer history than his experience with it). You kinda have to sleep slightly bent to match the curves of the couch. But it's still comfy.

I remember one of those first nights as I lay (on whatever makeshift bed I was using until my mattress got delivered) staring up at the ceiling and trying to imagine that this place would be my whole world for the next eight months. It seemed a little bit crazy. If you saw the size of my shack you would also think it crazy that I've spent so much time enclosed within these four walls.

The windows and outside walls are somewhat thin and lacking in soundproofing, so I've always kinda felt like I'm practically outside anyway. These days it's the rain that I hear, but I've always been able to hear the crunch of the gravel beneath the feet of people walking outside on the un-paved driveway. You can't imagine, then, the intense rumbling of the train which passes by so closely that I can see what the train conductor is wearing.

The fact that I'll soon be moving out is overwhelming all over again. Where has the time gone? Have I really let myself experience all that I should have?  | ¶ 6:39 p.m.