I no longer live in the house on top of the mountain.
It was definitely going to happen eventually anyway, but tensions built up and, like they tend to do, sort of exploded at a random, unpredictable time. And I guess if you want to know exactly what happened, call me.
Anyway, I remember getting dressed that morning and thinking that I looked like a walking bruise (wearing purple, blue, brown and black). Maybe I was asking for it. I had also just posted pictures of the neighborhood on facebook so people could see where I lived. And after the initial faze of the blowout I was reading a message from a friend asking if I was "a student or working?" and couldn't figure out how to answer it because chances were that I was very quickly on my way to neither. 5 mintues and an eruption of an old argument later and I was packing.
Now I'm living out of a backpack again. But at least it seems like good company comes hand in hand with it. I'm staying with friends of the family that I've really loved and admired for some time, and who are really more wonderful and supportive than I can effectively give words to. And finally life seems to be moving on from the kind of awkward place that it's been stuck in for months. It's both a little scary and a little refreshing to be really improvising what I'm doing with my life. But I'm pretty happy about it.
And living a little more ghetto, too. Or hippie, whichever.