The Happy Stuff.

I was staring into the blue eyes of his Australian Shepard, scratching behind her ears just the way Splinter likes when he asked, "have you lost weight?" I don't even know what kind of question that is, but it managed to break my spell of puppy-love. "I don't know. Maybe," I answered. He's a frequent customer, and I can't take my eyes of his dog Lola.

Home phone numbers. I could stay up all night under the covers with the receiver held to my ear. Every time I become optimistic about my time spent here, I find myself reminded of my roomates, or in this case, on the phone with them. A part of their antics again. Every thing is changing and I'm invisible on the sidelines. There was a puppy who chewed the keychain I wear by my side. There were a million bands, a million girls who slept in my bed, a million snowy nights, and I wasn't there for any of it. Even if they put the phone down and just let me listen to the laughter in the other room.

The night before his birthday, my brother reminded me of the realities that we create for ourselves. I am a perpetual state of, "I was happier here..." or "I was happier when..."

I wasn't. I never was. I've never been content a day in my life. My happiness has stemmed from plotting, from running, or from pretending. A new persona every 8 months that developed out of a rebellion for my old persona. When I ran away, I wasn't following my dreams. I couldn't face Tyler, I couldn't stand how hard school was for me, or how much I hated the jobs I was working. There was romance in the idea of a clean plate. No one was mad at me here. I hadn't let anyone down here. I could do it better here. You can't put miles between your body and your soul. I tore through it, strained my relationships, and sabotaged what I really cared about.

People might live their entire lives feeling lonely, but we used to sit 3 people to a couch, crammed into that living room. I'd fall asleep with my feet by Nick's head before stumbling sleepily into my room, putting on an Owen record, and smiling myself to sleep. I refuse to remember anything else.

If there is anything to learn, it's that I have my entire life to claim. Two years in South Carolina is nothing. I have to see something through to the end and live with the consequences of my actions. Each day is a punishment, for those who think I haven't gotten what I deserve. Seven days is nothing, but it's all I have to look forward to. That, and no more regrets, just cherished memories.