I know it's a lie, I want it to be true

I miss being home. I played piano for hours, started to figure out a Vienna Teng piece, dicked around with a little bit of song writing. Why did I get into that days before leaving? I can't write in my dorm room. Not on that keyboard. Not with everyone able to hear me. Volume shouldn't matter but oh, it does. This Red Arrow is significantly warmer than the one down from Edmonton - I was a bundle of scarf, hat, and jacket. Now it's just a new sweater and my Stock Hoodie (which I am extraordinarily pleased with).

I have nothing enlightened to say, but I miss the feeling of walking from my bed at my mother's house to the shower.