New Pants and Faulkner Like Tendencies

I am writing from home. It's weird. My mom and I have been doing some powerful internet related stalking tonight, mostly by looking at a local college's website. It's amazing how many of the women have married. So many that I am starting to feel like an old maid, and you must remember I am here to try on a wedding dress. Sad, sad.

So far, I am having a good time back home. It is really strange being here and seeing the kind of flight that is leaving this place. Everywhere I go, I see houses for sale or just standing empty, their owners having left without looking back. And I know I am guilty of this just as much as anyone. I live 7 hours away and I am moving farther. But sometimes I think that all I want to do is just stay here and write on the side of a mountain, and not have to deal with anything. I would like to be a hermit here within this place that I love and hate so virulently at the same time. I have this really strange relationship with this place, and the people who live here. When I am here, I can't think of being anywhere else, but when I am gone, I look at it with a kind of nostalgia and not much else.

Saturday Night Live sucks. Whoever writes it should be drug out in the street and shot.

(Sorry for that. I just caught Weekend Update, and well, suffice it to say that I was not entertained.)

Well, I should go. I have to go back home tomorrow. I think Matt misses me. And I am going to try to shop some more...ugh...material desire is inescapable. I'm so weird.