I want to go home. Home to Denver, where I have family aand friends and a car... I want the comfort of people I'm comfortable with and a house to crash in with a bed that is mine alone in a room that no one can come into without my permission. I want a TV where I can mindlessly watch movies and the news and whatever else I friggin feel like. I want to read without the fear of being judged, have a home church, a public library... and a fridge where I can put any food I want without fear of it getting stolen. Or of ants getting to it. And I want an oven to bake in. Real soap to clean my dishes. I want to have responsibilities and things to keep me busy.
Okay, I think I'm done complaining now. But I really do struggle sometimes. You would think that after five months, I would be over this by now. But I'm not.
I mean, clearly.