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Right then...

So I get home, and instantly am greeted with a million and two pictures to put in a photo album. Most of them from high school, pictures I dont even remember seeing. Horribly nostalgic. It's that kind of nostalgia that makes you feel like a total asshole for not keeping in better contact with all these people.

I miss a lot of people.


Also, I got home and went into "my room" and walked right into a hunk of wood. I didn't flip on the light because it had been my room for some 14 years, I don't need the light. Clearly, I did, however, because I was not prepared for the music stand and speakers to be right smack in the middle of my room in front of the bed. I really wasn't prepared to be staring down my grandmother's possessions either. It was weird, because I really thought that I was done crying. Heh, furniture proved me wrong twice it seems.


*le sigh*

Being home is such a buzz kill.

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