The Opposite of Cabin Fever

Lately I have been feeling like all I want to do is be at home. Or near my home. This is is kind of a new thing for me. I have always been one who loves to travel and explore the world with an eager heart. However, since I absolutely love where I live, it is extremely hard for me to leave it. The beach calls my name. The local pastry and coffee joint coaxes me inside to lattes with milky swirls and muffins larger than a softball.

I enjoy being home so much, I have been become anti-social. I make excuses for people to come to my home instead of their home. I bribe them with things like wine and the beach and "I'll cook dinner."

All of this, for the sweet, wonderful sensation of my fabulously scented candles (I swear they are are not tacky, cheap, french vanilla candles from Wal-Mart) and the porch overlooking the water. On the weekends, I avoid driving all together. I don't even like to waste the gas on something so needless on the weekends. The couch has a special spot just for my flat ass. My roommates sometimes have beers waiting for me. They kill spiders for me. They clean up the kitchen for me (well, they try, and then I clean up the rest). AND, gasp, they even put down the toilet seat.

But in all actuality, it's becoming a huge problem. I never have the want or need to leave. Everything is within my grasp. This whole "no man is an island" is becoming more of a falsehood each day that passes. I can get everything I need and barely leave the house.

All this, and well, another reason I love being home is because I am pretending to ignore the fact I have a huge, bellowing crush on my roommate. Ahhh. The plot thickens. Gasp. Whatever, you totally saw it coming.

It's Jim and he is totally off-limits.

Yep. Go ahead and tell me it's a terrible idea. It's not going to work. I'm going to get hurt.

You are absolutely right. This is torture.

Blogger. I've missed you, baby. Getting that off my large, E-cup chest sure felt great.

Later gator.

Life is Taxing

And I need to do mine.


Haven't started yet and I have eight different W-2s.


Can I groan right now?


Ugh.