2005-08-09//6:16 p.m.
with nothing else to do realized the feeling that happens spending hours and hours sitting on this bed is homesickness; don't think i've ever felt that before. been places i couldn't stand, yes, but missed the palces i'd rather be not so much that. think it might be i used to be one of the lucky people to be able to take home with them but not anymore--either it was never there or it's transmuted somehwere else. well, not somewhere; you know.
(the furthest i've ever been from the bed people called ther rooms their "homes." i didn't really know how to explain how bad of a translation that was.) (i also thought today how much a waste that trip, or at least as of a few months ago...)
it makes sense; why the room feels so uninviting and uncomfortable to spend long periods of time in, why everyone who walks by it or comes in seems strange and imposing. and why it gets upsetting to think "i'll have to spend a week in this room recovering and then i'll only have three more weeks before i leave home." and that i'll probably have to leave home for the last time before i even get leave this bed for a while.
it must have been i just never felt at home until recently, lucky me.
homesickness is killer. it's axiety all the time and the kind of hope that just becomes crushing disappointment when things don't work out; like a blinding spotlight that blocks out the perspective all around and your stupid little life is the only thing left. it's sad, really; finding happiness was probably the worst thing that's ever happened in the long run.