At "Home"

So after choiring it up yesturday morning, I grabbed my stuff and my daddy picked me up and drove me "home". The quotation marks are because I don't know what to call this house that isn't where I live. It stopped feeling like home a long time before I left, and now that I don't live here, I don't know what to call it. It sounds so callous to say "my parent's house", despite the fact that that is exactly what it is, especially when I'm talking to my parents. It just sounds so mean to say "when I go home" or "before I go home" in reference to Lister when I'm talking to my mum because I know she thinks of this, her house, as my home. But it's not. I don't belong here. Henday Tower's my home now.

I did laundry yesturday and am somehow missing two socks. One of Mark's and one of mine. Rabe figures they eloped together, but I'm thinking perhaps Mark's is somewhere in his room and mine is somewhere in my closet. Perhaps the closet monster ate it? Who knows.

Not only did I do laundry yesturday, but I also did some baking, grabbed a bunch of stuff to take with me to res, re-wrote some of my stats notes because my prof doesn't believe in keeping overheads on long enough to copy from, and did my spanish homework. And then today, I bought a rather "Well hello there" black shirt for choir, took photos in to get developed, baked some more, folded laundry, packed up my junk that has somehow migrated across my house, and am currently in the process of making supper (ham needs to go in the oven and such). Oh, who rulzors? Or for Mark (whom I doubt reads this anymore, but what the hey), who rocks the cazbah? ME, THAT'S WHO! Seriously, I amaze myself sometimes.

As much as I enjoy seeing my parents and whatnot, it will be nice to be home again. I really can't wait.