Time Stops Existing

I think a lot of people would hate living in my apartment. It's in the middle of a basement, walled off with a little "Kitchen" in the corner, a bathroom, and an akwardly shaped area for my bed and clothes and shit. I guess it's kinda odd that the refridgerator is at the foot of my hard as fuck futon. So maybe some people would have a problem with the low ceiling, exposed beams, and the giant radiator pipe (aka, "Heater") you have to duck under.



I love it down there. Theres no windows, no outside sun and weather telling day or night, no differentiation from noon and midnight. It's like there is no time, like it just stops existing, and sometimes I feel like I also stop existing. Sometimes not existing is the best feeling in the world, like when Ive just gotten home home work where Ive spent the day dealing with a bunch of pain in the ass bitches, i mean customers, then taken a crowded bus to a crowded train. Sitting on my bed with music playing, where there's no tv or radio or internet, No billboards and newspapers, noone looking at me, staring or judging or slamming through me to get off the bus. There's just the music I chose to play. When im bored and a little depressed however, all that detachment will just drive me down.

This is getting a little intense, Changing the subject.

It was just thanksgiving, my first holiday alone out here. I didn't really care though, thanksgiving kinda stopped meaning anything in my family a few years ago. Last year I stayed up in Vermont when my mom and brother went down to my aunts in CT, because it felt like it would mean a little more to spend the day with my friends. I went to my dad and Catherines for a little while, talked and had some wine. Its always a little weird for me to go there. It was kinda always my dads house, cause he grew up in it, but I always thought of it as more of my grandma's. She had lived there alone for 15 years, and it was always where we had Thanksgiving and Christmas when it still mattered in my family.

Joey and Robs was where it mattered. Where Paul, and Nate and Blake and I all contributed to dinner, and we smoked a ton of the best weed in the state, and drank several bottles of wine. Bana came after his forced-family dinner, and we spent the last night together playing video games and talking. Blake left a couple weeks later, moving to Oregon, Paul was leaving for Louisville just after Christmas. I got on the bus for Chicago 2 days after Paul, and then Nate a few days after me. My new family was splitting up and spreading across the country. Thanksgiving with my friends was a big deal.

This year I went to Nate and Aaron's. We ate leftover Aaron's mom had sent him home with, smoked some weed, drank beer, and just hung out, remembering how different last year was.