I’m very mopey today and I’m going to let it trickle out here, because I just need some relief. I’m not looking for sympathy — I never am, really. I just need an outlet.

I’ve hit some sort of wall, but I can’t figure out what the wall is made of. All I know is I’m down. I don’t feel right.

It might be because I’m so tired. With the MB on a completely different schedule — him staying up late to study or party, me trying to go to bed at a decent time so as not to be a bitch at work — I haven’t gotten one good night’s sleep lately.

It may be because work has been somewhat of a bore this week, but that usually doesn’t faze me.

I suspect, though, it’s because I’m homesick. For a home that doesn’t seem to exist.

I’m eternally grateful to the MB for giving me a place to stay while my job has been in transition for the past eight months. I would be in much worse shape than I am now if I didn’t have him, but at the same time I might not be transitioning to a new job in a new city if I didn’t have him. I’m not resentful, though.

The thing is, it’s his place. It is not nor will it ever be my place. He cleared out some space in his closet for my stuff but that’s about it. Me and my baggage don’t all fit into that space in the closet.

I have a house, which Godwilling will go on the market TODAY, but it’s no longer my own even if my name’s on the deed. All my personal effects — my pictures, my clothes, my dog’s pawprints — they’re all gone. It’s been more of a bed and breakfast for the last eight months anyway. I haven’t spent a full week there since August it seems. Other people have made it more their home than I in that time.

I don’t necessarily need a physical place to be my home — with all the moving around I’ve done, I’ve learned that people are my home. Even that seems to be failing me right now.

I have parents whom I love and whom very much are my home when I go to visit them, but my move has put them out of reach for a normal weekend. It now takes special planning to go see them, and special planning is not something that fits well with my job. I hate that.

I have friends around, but I see them so infrequently that they’re not the kind of friends that feel like home.

I have a boyfriend, but he’s just too dang busy to help. And he should be busy. He’s completing one of the greatest accomplishments of his life and I don’t want to rain on his parade. I fear I’m going to inadvertently though.

Please don’t pity me. This, too, shall pass, but the only chance of it passing was if I talked to someone about it. Thank you for being that someone. Right now you are my home.