For over 3 months now, I've been at my mom's. Working, at the job I always said I'd have when I was 14 and discovering a calling in a Gloria Steinem A&E spectacular.

It's hard to realize you got where you were going.

I moved into this place over the weekend, though it feels longer. It's been exactly 2 nights alone, in the king size bed I bought, for me and noone. I bought a couch, too. Went to 13 different stores. I painted my livingroom a colour that used to make me feel happy to look at it.

And tonight I'm unpacking and feeling kind of desolate, unpacking pictures, realizing I don't have 'phonecall' relationships anymore and that my only place I've left myself room enough to fall is a man I'm not in love with. Listening to all the songs I wrote when I was a completely different human being with a completely different life and crying cause it's gone.

Ohhhh the familiar melancholy, at the computer. Melancholy with a nice apartment and a career.