Oh ye gods. Burned barley is one of the most unpleasant tastes and smells ever, and this is twice in two years that I've experienced it. Last time was the infamous Dalai Lama Visiters. Today I just... well I'm a bit preoccupied, and I totally forgot to say, turn off the heat or even look at the pot. *sigh*

So I spoke to my father. I'm going home tomorrow. (I find it odd how I can't help but refer to it as "home." I keep trying to pretend I don't live there in any sense of the word.) I'm going to leave here by seven and try to get into New York by noon. Gods. I find this incredibly depressing. I told my mom last night that she could call me this evening.... so I guess I really do have to tell her about this. Also because I can't afford it by myself, I think, and I think she'll pay for it... she said she'd pay for me to come visit... fuck. I feel now like there were six hundred things I could have done to make this go smoothly a month ago, but I just didn't.... I don't want to talk to mom about this. She's probably not going to take this well. I don't know what she'll say, but she'll think I'm being... something, I don't know. Somehow this will be entirely my fault. I wish I could stop being afraid of her. If wishes were fishes...then I'd probably soon find it was the only source of nutrition in the bloody apartment and I'd have to give in.

I wish I were a better liar.
posted by Unknown at 2:32 PM