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You know in the mornings, when you're awake but you don't get out of bed because the alarm hasn't gone off, but you can't get back to sleep because you're not tired anymore, so you just end up laying there, with your eyes shut, in that comfortable cocoon of sheets and blankets, and your mind wanders like a meandering stream?

Well, it is at those times that I find some of the most interesting, candid thoughts appear.

This morning, I took a room-by-room tour of my old house. I remember everything, right down to the doorknobs, the number of stairs, the smell of the front closet, the creak of the kitchen floor (especially that spot right by the pantry), and the squeak of the laundry room door when it was drawn shut.

It's surreal to think that I will never again see that house. I will never again occupy that space, except where my mind allows, and that eventually, in the not-so-distant future, I will begin to forget about the doors and the stairs and the creaks and the smells.

This November marks three years since it was sold, though I've already passed the three-year anniversary of the last time I was there. I miss it fiercely and often. I think, from time to time, how much easier everything would be if I still had a home in Deerfield. Winter Break, for example. Planning a future in Chicago. Right now, it's just as easy for me to think about New York.

Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe losing a home and an anchor in my life has forced me to be more independent and make choices not based on geography, but what would be best for me. Maybe it just severely limits my options because the only place I can find free lodging is Bumble, Florida...and even that is sketchy.

I miss my room.

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