luminaire

I hate. I burn. I bleed.



I want to be anywhere but here; with anyone but myself. I wish I was in Toronto, or Portland. St. Andrews, or London. LA, or San Francisco. Anywhere but this house. I wish I could see, or be with so many people, and none of them are here. And most of them don't even know me; how's that for pathetic? I'm desperate enough for change, I'll leave on an impluse; on a fleeting wisp of a feeling.

I was done working at like 10. I stayed until almost 1, just doing stupid shit that didn't matter. I almost considered sleeping under my desk; not because I have to be there again tomarrow, but because the though of home made me want to cry. This place is not my home anymore, and I can't figure out why. I'm homesick for a different place, but it's nowhere in my head. I have no other place to go. I want to hide in my office, safe within my security-carded lab, and sob myself to sleep. I don't want any of this anymore.