My trip home was a blur. I literally remained in a sitting position for three days: bus, couch, bus. My run today destroyed me, and I’m pretty sure I’ve shredded my calf muscles. I also ate enough ham to gain three pounds, according to the gym’s scale. Most gyms add three pounds to their scales to keep their customers, right? Let’s go with that.
Several times this weekend, during conversations with my parents, I referred to St. John’s as “home”. Accidently. Every time I slipped up, I immediately corrected myself as their faces fell.
The thing is, I’m not sure where “home” is anymore. Is it here, with all my friends, my career, this old, drafty house? Or is it in Bay d’Espoir, where I grew up, where my family is, where I haven’t lived in six years?
But then there are times like this previous Saturday afternoon, standing at that hill overlooking the bay, when I think I could probably build a massive house of my own and live there comfortably and quietly. Then again, maybe when I’m 50.
Alright, time to pull my head out of my ass and stop being such an emo kid.
Wine Extravaganza just came back with a vengeance, as I found this ungodly piece of party evidence, pre-destruction. If you’re prone to motion sickness, I warn you to look away.
Question: When did my friends become lesbians?
And when did I start enjoying it so much? Note the “OHHH YEAH!” of happiness at the end.
Seriously, haven’t hosted a rager like this since…well, since last year, but that’s besides the point.