ok, so...

Maybe I've been fibbing a little. It has been about eight days since I've had five minutes to hear my own thoughts. Now, I have had about four hours and 35 minutes to myself, and I feel trapped in a sort of tumultuous silence. Maybe it's not all silence.

I realized sometime between a shower and my lunch—peanut butter on wheat—that I might say too much on here; that all six or seven people that may read this on occasion are likely to think I'm a less sane than I once was. "Don't worry, I'm fine."

It is 3:38pm in Boston. Does afternoon begin immediately after 12pm? Is 12:01 considered "the afternoon"? I'm pretty sure I would consider it noon. Perhaps I've been wrong all this time. Well, here's to the afternoon.

I will be broke in five days. I am jobless. My mom is generous, but not that generous. I wanted this time to be on my own, anyway. It's been rewarding. Sort of. My dreams are more vivid—I think it's the absence of street noise. My view? A sprawling landscape of California rooftops and South San Franciscan fog. A backyard home to overgrown grass, a broken lawn mower, a mossy wooden bench that once belonged to a quaint little set of lawn furniture (but now houses ants and spiders), and a broken fence. There is a cage on my window.

I put up a few posters and photographs to make the guest room feel like home. I spread my red blanket from school across the queen-size, and my sort-of ugly quilt-fabric pillows against the wall. It's alright, I think. I have my music and I just bought some cheap oil pastels. I needed to invest in things to do that won't necessitate leaving the house.

It feels colder here than it does during Seattle's winter, mostly because of wind chill. I should keep spare jackets and pairs of shorts in my trunk. Wind in the morning, sun in the afternoon.

I need to find a place to run. And somewhere warm to read. I need a job.