Sundays are my day to miss home. My Sundays spent alone in this shoebox I now half-heartedly call home consist of listening to country music and crying like a little bitch. Every other day of the week, I'm completely content living where I do and doing what I do. There's just something about Sundays that makes me feel like an anti-social eight-year-old in the first leg of summer camp. Perhaps it has something to do with seeing my family and friends at graduation yesterday. I spent five hours in a car to spend five hours with my folks, yet I couldn't be happier I went. I wish I could have spent more time with my ladies though, as I miss them dearly.

By the way, Aurora, thanks for making me cry yesterday as well. On a Saturday. That's not my crying day, damn you! But you're very sweet and I miss you too.

Which brings me to my next topic: Camp Shack must happen this summer. I don't think June is going to work, unfortunately, so I'm going to have to try to find a weekend in July or August that works for everyone, or as many people as possible.

Also, an apology is probably in order for everyone I called last Saturday. I don't remember calling most of you and I can't be held accountable for anything I said. Unless, of course, it was good stuff I said, in which case I can be held completely accountable. I vow to never again spend nine hours at a bar. Not for the rest of May, at least.