Homesick. So homesick.

I about had a stroke when I saw this. This is a map of vacancies of my floorplan, and where the red dot is, that's the exact location of my old apartment:

And I thought, here we go again. Except that it turns out it's Apartment 133 - not 233 - that's available. The one right below me.

I can't believe it's been over a year. What a waste of time I don't have to waste at my age.

I have a hair appointment in the Marina next weekend and I'm thinking about driving by. I haven't been able to bring myself to do it, not since I left. Too hard not to turn into my driveway, and go to my parking space, and up to my home. But I may have to do it this weekend. I need to see it again. Until I can get back. I'm guessing my New Year's resolution is pretty easy to guess. I want to go home.

I should never have left. I lived there, in that beautiful place. It's almost like a dream now. Otherwise, why can't I wake up there?

Also, I've hardly been writing since I moved. The story that's getting published next year is years old. It just happened to fit the theme. I just can't worry about that stuff now. I just can't.

I just want to go home. I can write later. Everything can wait until later.

Miss you, beautiful