Laying on the bed in my old room at home, I cannot help but realize that it’s still 3am and I’m still not asleep. For some reason, home is not what it use to be and I just don’t know why. True, I’m in the real world and living on my own now. Home is no longer home for me. And yet, each time I come home for Christmas, Thanksgiving or just staying over for the night, I always have problems sleeping.
I just can’t pinpoint it. The food is still digestible. The house doesn’t smell like old people yet. My parents have cable. I get free laundry. I just don’t know. And here I lay on the bed still wide awake.
My bed is in my apartment. The bed I’m currently sleeping on is my parents’ old bed. The same bed that I was conceived in. As was my sister. Along with 24 years of fruitful marriage.
My eyes will not close tonight. And I need some rubbing alcohol to wash myself in tomorrow. So much for sweet dreams.