Home is weird, good weird, but still. It'll be less so once my job starts and I have some sort of commitment for my time. Now its, 'hmmm, well I could do anything, so what to do?' Pathetic. *grin* It's nice, but I keep getting these little moments of panic where I start childing myself for putting off homework before realizing I don't have any, though I should probably unpack soon. Even I cannot live out of suitcases forever, at least not in my own room. They take up too much floor space that I could be using for some very nice sprawling. My time has not been entirely wasted though: I reread Story of O yesterday. (If you can't handle the Marquis de Sade don't even look up Story of O.) Next up: Memoirs of Casanova, Vagina Monologues, Ruined By Reading, Manhattan Loverboy, Disgrace, or Wonders of the Invisible World. I am as of yet undecided. ... There weren't any stars out last night. The moon was full and he clouds were out reflecting it. I went out all in black and was darker than the night. ...but I can do a lot of things and I do.