not sure what's going on with my comments (error on page, huh? yep. huh.) or my inability to write anything to or for anyone (this includes me) at any time. yesterday i woke up in a stranger's house. a pair of my old sheets slung across our old couch. the pair to the one that's sitting under the windows in my new apartment. but i'm not home. the dog standing on my chest. waving his tail and kissing my face. are you still here?, i called. but he'd left for work. and i knew already, he'd never really been there at all. still here and the house is still strange enough -- filled sparsely with all my familiar forgotten things. still empty, even with me inside.