being home

I returned from beautiful San Diego to an empty home. My roommate's away for the weekend. I went out for a bit on Saturday night and filled in some coworkers about the trip. I also skipped out of a show early, even though I'm pretty sure I'm going to regret not sticking around for the closing band. For some reason, I couldn't sleep a wink last night and stayed up until 8am before I finally passed out. I didn't wake up until 3:30pm, which is sure to fuck up my work week beyond all recognition. I talked to my parents and felt all homesick, so I watched Dead Like Me for seven hours, which didn't help matters. I'd always do fine until the end of each episode when Georgia starts doing her voiceover spiel about evaluating one's life and how we're all lonely creatures who're just searching for something to grasp on to in this cold and crazy world. I ate a chicken cutlet parm hero and felt all emo. I developed a seven-hour crush on Ellen Muth, even though I really think the poor girl needs to eat an Ultimate Cheeseburger from Jack in the Box. I've had better days.