Adjustments.

The building rises out of the ground, standing among the others, not different, and somehow not the same. 25 stories tall, it is hardly the tallest building around, yet it rises slightly above it’s neighbor, the top of it proclaiming it’s affiliation for all the world to see. My room is plain, for the moment, white walls and clutter, furniture against most of the walls. Two desks, dressers, beds, chairs and closets. One bathroom. All mine. Shower, only, of course, although since I am alone in this room I would have enjoyed a tub, and been able to make sure it was clean.
Groceries. Gluten free. The words pop out at me from the boxes that line the shelves and I see them, pick them up, and hope that they’ll taste even adequate.
I hear his voice in my ear, he’s telling me his fears, and I’m unable to comfort him. I told him my story, how even this year, I cried and cried and begged her to take me back with her. He’s scared. I’m scared for him.
But here it goes, on and on.
Broken toe. Kicked a couch. Problem. It’s purple. First broken bone of my life.
Roommates are awesome. Love them. Thank god.
Classes are not bad either.
Coughing fit in the bookstore. Lawyers. Awkward. The salesclerk handed me a cough drop and it didn’t work.
Love.

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