i like to half write songs.

and not finish them.

maybe i will someday.

home

is in fact where the heart is. i realized today that i have been avoiding growing up not only by pining for my childhood, but by also treating my dwelling as a waystation, or a storage unit. "you're an island", i say to myself in the words of woddy allen's annie hall. i didnt clean up my closet. i didnt clean anything. it would be cleaned of course, just not by me. i wouldn't cook or eat meals here, just slept, showered, changed. i get to do my laundry, cook my food, make this place my home. if my home is a safe, warm, inviting place then perhaps my mind will settle in as well. to feel comfortable to open my home, i may discover that it is safe to open myself. all i need to do is chose it and make it happen. i am a new person with new possibilities. so there.