It's cold and it's windy... and I digress

So I love my life. I'm the happiest person in the world. I am. But some nights I get really cold, and I wish my brother and I were closer, and that my father was as healthy as I still tend to picture him. When it is thirty-something degrees outside, but I have to keep my windows cracked open so that they won't fog up and alert the police that I'm "camping illegally" on private property, and the only food I have is six-month-old raw spaghetti that I have no way to cook and therefore store in trunk thinking that a noodle might be nice to crunch on if my cash runs out or someone breaks in again, and the wind outside is roaring through the parking garage I'm not allowed to stay overnight in (anymore) like a semi crawling up the slope behind me and every once in a while when the air shakes the ground, I have to check out the back window to make sure it isn't the cops, I get sad- and simply being the happiest person alive isn't enough to keep me from shivering and my heart from pounding and my thoughts from cycling my insecurities. Won't somebody just take me home.

"You know that point in your life when you realize the house you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of a sudden even though you have some place where you put your shit, that idea of home is gone... You'll see one day when you move out it just sort of happens one day and it's gone. You feel like you can never get it back. It's like you feel homesick for a place that doesn't even exist. Maybe it's like this rite of passage, you know. You won't ever have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it's like a cycle or something. I don't know, but I miss the idea of it, you know. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people who all miss the same imaginary place." -Andrew Zimmerman -Garden State

I watch Rives speak "Op Talk" and I see Adam send Leila a message that says "<3u" and once Joseph told Sara that she was like a sister to him... and I think to myself, maybe he would like me better if we were raised 3,000 miles apart. And maybe I would like me better if he liked me better. And maybe I could find a home again. And sometimes I get so angry and wonder what the hell is so bad about me that renders me so unlovable; or what the hell is wrong with him that makes him so heartless. But then, maybe he's just insecure, too. Maybe I put too much energy into seeking his approval. Most of the time I can let it go. Tonight it got to me, and sharing seemed like a good idea.
Being homeless isn't that bad unless you're alone and it's late and you let yourself think about people and your relationships with those people. Blame is a dangerous thing. I have no one to blame but myself... but only when it's late and I'm alone. Night creeps in deeper than you realize sometimes. Speaking of which, I have to go. My fingers are freezing and it's almost time for the police to drive through.

I love my life. And I love you. And I'm the happiest person in the world. I am so thankful for this gift of voice. And for sleeping bags. And for kidneys. And for my family (yes, my brother as well). Goodnight. <3