A House is Not a Home

Wat is home to me?

Currently i have the whole room to myself..but its a living hell-hole. Apparently my lesbian partner moved out of my place after a terrible tiff ( pls come back) and since then, my un-ironed clothes occupy half the bed, occasionally the guitar occupies partial space. Some notes are buried under the pile of clothes. The clothes on the bed are clean, mind you. I do my own laundry, so i can differentiate between the dirty pile on the floor and the washed ones.
Class notes are laid as a pile on the floor.

Sometimes i forget to turn down the radio and its blasting in the middle of the night and as i have no energy to drag myself in the middle of the night, i just sleep with the conscious mind tat the music's too loud- till the next morning when i wake up with an unhappily-rested mind. It does not help tat i recently have been leaving the lights on and no one bothers to help me off - boils down to the issue of my lesbian partner leaving me ( pls come back and help me off the lights)

Next morning, i leave for school in a rush, a grumpy woman, until i next return in the late evening. Like a hostel ya?
I need some order in my life.