Feeling: detached
Listening to: Frou Frou - Hear Me Out
Reading/Watching: Passionata

I don't really live here anymore.

"Here" is where I store my bed, where I hang my clothes. "Here" is the rack of my DVDs that I rarely watch, "here" is the desk which houses my laptop.

Storage space. It's not really mine, not really. I leave my things there, because I don't technically live anywhere else. I sleep every night in mon coeur's apartment, and have since I graduated college. I spend most mornings there, chatting with the boys, surfing the internet on his computer instead of my own, until I need to go "home," shower, dress, and go back out again for voice lessons or job hunting or just plain to get away from the place where I feel I'm intruding by wanting to sit on my own couch, and at the same time feeling guilty that I don't spend more time sitting on my own couch. I clean up my things covertly, trying not to take up too much space, trying to fade out of her way so that we don't snipe at each other, and I think even in that I am still doing something wrong.

I still pay for half the groceries. I still pay for half the electricity (although Nimsay gets to decide how much it actually costs). I still pay for half the cable, and I still pay for half the rent. Mostly because there's nowhere else for me to keep my things, the furniture and clothing which declare that I "live" there.

Basically I'm paying $500 a month for storage space. It became exceptionally clear today.

I don't think I'm wanted there. I think I could move out tomorrow and the vacancy would be welcomed. But she wouldn't want me to leave and stick her with all of the bills, either. So that, along with my job, school, and wedding plans, is also in limbo.

Joy.

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