The cold of the night seeps into my room through the floor. It's hiding under the carpet, perhaps some cement. But I can feel it when I sit on the floor. So I sit on a folded blanket.

I love having freshly washed flannel on my bed. It's surprising I don't do it more often. But washing the bedding is such a hassle that I don't do it as frequently as I probably should. Are there rules about such things? I especially hate having to make a bed from scratch.

Lately I've been longing for a house, or at least an apartment, to call my own. I want to fill it with pretty things and acquire lovely furniture and create a space I love. More than just one bedroom. I want a kitchen of my own, in which I can bake and cook delicious goodness. A kitchen with open shelves of pretty dishes and jars of spices and other dry things and flowers in a jar on the table. Oh sigh. Someday. After I graduate and have some money and no longer have to move a lot. I am already tired of being transient and of living in other people's houses.