A Hundred Years of Solitude...

...would not be enough, if you were to ask me at the moment.  But that is just this very moment, when the sky is still dark with cold, late fall, morning rain, and I am the only one awake, procrastinating that daily ritual I call personal hygiene.  We all have our lows, I suspect, at least once in our lives.  While I'm far too superstitious to say that I have hit mine, I'm pretty damn sure that this is as close as I ever want to be to it and still be conscious.  I'm sure that deciding to buy a house directly on the heels of those little things like marriage and death and the beginning of what has become the Semester of Unfortunate Events has not helped the situation at all.  Not that I regret the house - in fact, I don't think that I have ever been so in love with a home before; it just has that kind of energy to it.  But it has been overwhelming.  In fact, if I could sum up the way I feel with one image, it would most likely be something like this:

And I'm sorry, but if you feel like that, there is something definitely not going right in your life.  A hundred years of solitude seems awfully nice at the moment, in the quiet, semi-darkness of my study (yes, I actually have a study... a REAL study, to do some serious studying in) and if you were to ask me right now, I might actually take you up on it.  But I have a feeling that tomorrow I would wake missing all the people that have become so important to me in my life and want to click my heels together and go home.  Because even if home means that I'm taking 5 different kinds of medication just to keep my shit together, it still contains the only thing (aside from aforementioned medications) in my life that gets me through the days at all.  The love of the people who hold me up through it all and don't complain about my sweaty armpits around their shoulders or the deodorant stains I leave behind. And that is surely what love is all about.