Going home
I've lived in this room for the past six weeks. Not once has it felt like home. Most times when I move somewhere new, the walls and sheets start to take on a certain scent that reminds me of myself and the people I love. Here, the smell is like any hotel you've ever known. Industrial clenser and mass-washed linens.
In the next 20 minutes, I'm leaving this room and going home. I'm so tired I can't move myself to even take a shower before the trip east.
I don't care. I'm going home. And I write this only as a reminder to myself:
When I get there, I'm going to be better.
In the next 20 minutes, I'm leaving this room and going home. I'm so tired I can't move myself to even take a shower before the trip east.
I don't care. I'm going home. And I write this only as a reminder to myself:
When I get there, I'm going to be better.
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4 Comments:
How is it that you're a)awake right now, and b)writing something other than inane babble? I'd be too fried.
Go home. Hug your wife and kid. Please.
Great job (per usual) at the series.
Looking forward to your blogging here though, so I'm glad you'll soon be returning to inadvertantly remind us that we can be better writers.
Safe travels, Bradley.
Love you, Su
Good. Now we can have us some Bradoween.
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