Homesick and Happy to Be Here

I disappeared and it felt great. For about three hours, I was in my own little world, painting with bright acrylic colors and listening to a fantastic mix CD. For all intents and purposes, I was autistic. The painting's 'done' upstairs, but I know I'll be studying it for the next few days for touch-ups. Now that it's done, I feel discombobulated. If I didn't know any better, this would be jet lag, except I haven't been out of my time zone, much less this state.

Speaking of 'being in my own world', I've wrapped myself around two things: the Vines' Highly Evolved and Patchett's Bel Canto. I just can't get enough of it. Baby.

My sister left me the most heartbreaking note on my bedroom floor. Rest assured, I came thisclose to being reduced to a sobbing, mewling infant, but I composed myself. It's not like I'm moving to An-fuckin-tartica, though it would feel like that. We've really become close, the level on which we could finish each other's sentences, have nutty inside jokes, heckling each other with shouts of 'LYLAS!' in public places, and all that other stuff that I'll spare you (and myself) from. I hate that mushy-gushy shit anyway.


... Oh who am I kidding.