So I have begun the monumental task of packing my stuff up. It’s that time—time to move back home with the parents and be unemployed. I discovered something about myself as I packed, though. I knew I had a lot of stuff, knick-knacks, books, school stuff, etc. but I never knew how much I had. I am a book whore.
I love books. I always knew I loved books. I never knew the sheer number of books I had acquired over the past two years. These books aren’t even all that I have. There are still more at my parent’s house. Where the hell are they all going to fit? I have upwards of 60 gallons of books (there isn’t a specific count right now).

So the night has continued and massive drunkenness has ensued. Go figure. For once, I am the sober one. This is a new experience for me—well not new, but certainly not something I’ve felt for a good four years or so. I almost don’t know what to do with myself. It has been so long since I was in the company of a drunk person while sober myself I’ve forgotten how to handle it. I feel bad for being sober, what does that mean I wonder? My only answer is to hide in my room away from the scary aroma of our living room; it smells decidedly like a brewery actually.

Ah, sleep pounds at my eyelids but I refuse to give in. I don’t refuse, however, to end my blog.

Goodnight Sweetheart well, it’s time to go/ ba dum da dum/ Goodnight Sweetheart well, it’s time to go/ ba dum da dum/ I hate to leave you but I really must say/ Goodnight Sweetheart, Goodnight.