Being back in my old bedroom is like returning to the womb. The comfort of curling up in my bed with a real mattress, old flannel sheets, and down comforter. Every time I sit down on it I fall into the kind of deep sleep usually only associated with codiene and hard liquor. It's nice to not spend too much time here awake. I have to distract myself from letting the memories seep back in. This room where I suffered silently for the better part of eight years. I'm glad my mother has removed all the pictures and posters from the walls, including a large map of Boston. I was there on Tuesday, and it felt strange. It was familliar and unfamilliar at the same time. It's my least favorite time of the year there right now. I hate that city. But I'll be returning for New Year's Eve. Andrew and Sarah transcend the lameness of Boston. Plus there's going to be booze. 0 comments so far