I'm tired this week. I've forgotten to write. I'd like to go home now. I'm not sure where that is. The house that I make mortgage payment for doesn't feel like home. It feels like a dirty, uncomfortable hotel where I show up at the end of the night to bathe and sleep. I'm avoiding my house as much as possible, which is stupid and exhausting and not sustainable as a way of life. But it's what I'm doing right now to get through the days and nights, to get up and get to work, and to keep moving forward. I don't know.