want to go home. I don't like it here.
Work is fine. The pizza I got for dinner was good.
But I still don't like it here at all. :-(
The water is incredibly soft, and does weird things to my hair. There's a squalor about this town, with its run-down houses and seedy restaurants and the roughnecks in the KFC every day at lunch.
The motel rises abruptly out of dull brown prairie, new, with no trees or shrubs to soften the way it just juts out of the earth. And the earth it juts out of doesn't become it. It's so empty here. So plain.
And I hate king sized beds. I HATE them. I didn't realize this until I got here Sunday. After a long drive. Tired. Scared. Dislocated.
I like to feel warm and safe and comforted. I do not like bedding down in hotel sheets and hotel blankets over a matress the size of apartment kitchen. It makes me feel small. It makes me feel lost.
It makes me feel lonely. I only ever sleep on one half of my own little full sized bed. And there I can burrow down under soft sheets, fluffy pillows, a quilt, a feather comfortor, and feel nestled and warm and protected from the world. It's soft and it's snug and it's familiar. It's home. Here, today, I came home after work and I'm too tired to be social with near strangers, and I haven't been able to meet with any of my friends in the area, so I'm just camped out in my room. And they're nice people, at the site, but they aren't my friends. They don't know me and love me and really care that I'm there.
Not that my whining is very endearing right now, I guess. I want to see everyone I possibly can on Friday when I get back. I'll be at Valhalla by 5:00PM, I hope. I want to see everyone there, so I can get this personal little hell out of my system as quickly as possible. I promise I'll be much more pleasant company than I am right now.
I'm sorry for being such a downer. Please forgive me. I'm just so tired and lonely and discouraged. I want to go home.