This House Just Ain't A Home

So, Captain Adam's most recent blog got me thinking about house vs. home.

And I finally realized why I love to go to my parent's house every weekend.

They have an actual home.

I go in, and I feel warm and welcome. Loved, even, despite the sometimes absense of people.

I always thought that it was just because that was my parent's house and that will always be "home" to me.

Then I realized that I live in a awful apartment with a barely there roommate (my twin sister) and two cats that are spawn of Satan himself.

Thank God I'm still a full-time student and my dad made the mistake of saying he'd pay for this place. Meaning: I'm not paying to live in this dump.

I moved in November 17. Bright eyed, bushy tailed, and tied to a one year lease.

I cannot wait until November comes around again. I'm getting a different apartment. Hopefully without my sister, definitely without the cats.

I love my sister, but it's kind of disappointing living with someone who is never there.

If I move out to a different place, it will definitely be more expensive, but hopefully, I can con my dad into paying for half as long as I keep my grades up.

But for now, I've got to deal with what I have.

I'd like to say that I don't hate my place, but I do. I hate living there and I hate going home. It's so depressing! I've tried putting my own personal touch to the place (decorations and stuff) but the cats ruin it all.

I've noticed, too, that I hardly ever call my apartment 'home.' I reserve that for Mom & Dad's place. I'll say: my apartment, my place, etc. but rarely do I call it 'home'

At least the kitchen is my domain.