Moving.

When you're dreaming with a broken heart,
The waking up is the hardest part
You roll out of bed, and down onto your knees
And for a moment, you can hardly breathe
-John Mayer, Dreaming With a Broken Heart

It's after midnight. My roommate continues to play his bass downstairs. Before much longer, he will come upstairs, stomping on every step, and then walk down the hall singing at the top of his lungs. When he gets back to his room, he might watch TV loudly. Or have a loud conversation on his cell phone, which somehow has the same ring tones set for alarms and phone calls as mine. He'll do anything to avoid his dirty dishes. Things that are mine disappear into his room for days.

Thank God I'm moving out on Sunday. Safer, cleaner, nicer, quieter, with better roommates (who speak English!) and free laundry in the kitchen. Plus, I won't worry, now that I have a different address.

I need a vacation. Every day is a struggle here.