Strike me down and spit on me while you’re at it, but… sometimes? Sometimes I wish I didn’t live with my mother in her house. Sometimes I fancy that I might feel like picking out a throw pillow or a scented candle to place about at whim. Because after two years and five months of this I still feel that I need to pack up my bags and move home. To my home where renters now live. I love my mother and mostly I like living here in her home, I just get restless from time to time and wonder where I misplaced the rest of my life. Does this make me an ingrate?
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