"She's Leaving (for) Home"

Dear my friends:

I'm sorry, but I really did try.

When the combination of Butter Chicken and the bottom dust of a half-hearted spliff cause you to lose your theoretical stomach in a way that can only be described as "premature evacuation", and the spent remains of $10 000 that was never yours to begin with lies face down on the bedroom floor amongst filthy laundry in need of laundering and several unresolved sticky spots...maybe it's time to go home.

I gave it my best shot, and missed the mark. And if we've learned anything from modern media, it's that when rocking the rock bottom, it's traditional and quite socially acceptable to run home crying to ma and pa. Nothing beats a fully-stocked refridgerator and clean sheets.

I AM NOT WEAK. I will repeat. It's okay to be down. It's all right to be not super right.

After 13 hours of jPod season 1, and yet another bag of take-away Indian I have come to this conclusion. The only obstacle is packing. Procrastinators hate packing down to their very bottom dust. and GO.

"So let's drop the pills and we'll say hello."