home, or something like it

I climbed the stairs up to the bay last night and thought "this is home". It wasn't a shocking revolution, but simply an awknowledgement of no matter how hard/boring/tedious things are now, I really am happy to be here. Yeah, the social stuff might be like high school, I have no privacy, the men are really annoying, and class is boring. But I like coming back to the bay at night.

There's only seven of us in the bay, with three that float in and out of their private rooms. (Rank has it's priviledges, afterall.) We're not crowded in together. Gear has taken over surrounding bunks. Conversations mix and mingle, both amoung ourselves and to loved ones on the other end of the phone. What some would consider private becomes part of shared knowledge. Relationships, hookups, dreams, hopes, accomplishments. Country jives with gospel. Tea and coffee made from a shared hot pot. Yogurt and pizza side-by-side in the fridge. Seven different viewpoints on everything and anything, seven different life experiences, seven different lifestyles -- all living together.

I don't mind at all. MarriedSista cooing to her son and asking for prayer requests from her grammy while looking out for everyone. Twig asking about baseball games, grades, and her cats. GlamourBeauty studying or reading quietly in bed. LittleBit and her endless stream of men. EnglishProf's bizarre sense of humor and southern twang, comfortable enough to dispense advice on everything and anything. Fifi's rough exterior, strong self-assurance. And me, Techno, the baby of the group.

This is comfortable. I could get used to this.