I've been in my apartment 10 months now, and yet it is still new. My things are strewn about all over, but the place remains insulated from their spirit, like a mind remains insulated from the knowledge in a book unopened, though it be at hand. I have not yet unpacked my soul here, let loose my presence to fill all the nooks and crannies. I have not used this place, simply drifted in and out of it, sleeping, eating, and loafing, as one does in a hotel room. But I've even felt more connected to some hotel rooms than my apartment. I remember the dingy brown simplicity of the motel back in the midwest where I stayed with 5 of my closest friends one night, eating pizza and drinking to "never ever have I ever..." If I were to return to that remote place and open the door to that room, its tidy silence would bring more warm feelings than my current residence does, stuffed with all my stuff.

I don't think I will ever feel settled here. This place doesn't fit me... it works, but not for long. More like dress pants than my favorite pair of jeans. I can't relax here.