(no subject)
Sometimes, I miss being alone in my room in my old apartment at school in Oregon. I loved the lighting, the sound (not too much, not too little) and even the cold temperature (it meant bundling in a warm sweater). I liked having all my books, clothes, movies, tv, laptop, music, and bed in one safe place to call my own. And if I ever got bored or frustrated I could go bother Angie at her room across from mine or go visit Evan's apartment and hang out with them. On occasion Ray would be in the living room watching Forest Gump (which was always on) on our tv and I would join him. I'm basically like my cat. I like being alone on occassion with the option of not being alone. That's always nice. And for some reason, I miss being up at some bizarre hour of the night, in my pajamas, throwing on a jacket and boots and marching to the library to print something, each step crunching over the snow, beautiful soft white flakes collecting on my hood. Why does snow make such an amazing and peaceful quiet. Not a murderer lurking in the dark corner quiet, but a quiet that makes you feel like anything could happen and it would be something beautiful. The light also seemed to take on a softer and warmer glow.