Dinner at 6... are you kidding me?

My world and my reality have come crashing down right in front of me these past 24 days. I have not written, not because I don't like you, but because it's still not time to branch out.

By no means is whatever I am living here a secret. I am not really doing any exciting touristy stuff. I spent most of my time in my room playing my guitar and my newly acquired bongos -- Yes, I bought bongos. They are the best thing ever.

My room is a mess (don't tell my mom). I haven't made my bed in like a week and a half, but really, why would I? I spent most of my time actually sitting in my bed, it's much more comfortable to have it unmade.

There's shoes everywhere, despite the fact that whenever I see my black converse, blue-checkered vans and slippers on the floor I could swear I though I put them away. The desk... well, ever since I moved my laptop to my chair and set it beside my bed, let's just say that you can't really put anything on top of the desk. Except for space change and my (literally) hundred bottles of water/gatorade/juice... well, maybe not hundreds, but right now there's three of them plus a cup and a dish... over the weekend I drank five propells (gatorade) and those were there too.

I watch movies too... but I think I might stop that, since last night I watched two.

"The Boys", as people actually living in the apartment affectionatley call the guys coming over tonight, are coming over. The Boys is made up of John (Zoe's boyfriend), Peter (Erin's significant other) and Eric and Ben(?)... I might have made up the last names. We are all going to have a pretty dinner and eat in a four person table. Because we are cool like that.

Last night I went to a "community group" from the church I went to on Saturday. It was interesting. Very different from what I'm used to. The food, on the other side, was unbelievable. The ride home on the subway was beautiful. I've never been to that part of town before. I might do it again, when there's light out.

I don't miss people, really. I feel like that one movie I saw once where they traveled to space and because of the speed they were traveling at, they could travel for hundreds of years and still not age a day. I feel like I just got here yesterday. Everything else is in pause back home (which I know it's not)

Things are so offbeat here. There's no responsibilities, like back home. There's no church fifty five hours a week at the same time every week. There's no driving, no meals at 2:30 p.m. There's no mom to tell me to pick up my room (I particularly don't miss that. Although I love my mom dearly and I know I really should pick it up. Still) There's no cleaning for me, so this weekend I'm actually vacuuming the apartment. There's no friends to call or see or ignore. There's no brother playing his music at a hundred million decibels louder than he should be, thus not letting me THINK when I'm trying to be quiet in my room. There's no dressing up for Sundays. There's no hour of studying my instrument daily (although i think I might be playing a lot more in my spare time than I did back home). There's no familiar scents and there's no comfortable towel, since the one I bought on the day I got here is kind of not comfortable.

The one thing I do miss, terribly, is belting out singing at the top of my lungs. Monday rehearsal and Tuesday/Friday intercession/worship is what I long for the most. I can sing here, just not as loudly as I would like to. You see, there's other people living in the apartment that don't necessarily want to hear me sing. They get to hear me play my guitar all day so I give them the benefit of singing not-so-loudly. But Sunday in church I sang at the top of my lungs (enough so I could still be in tune) and it was heart-breaking. Oh, how I long to stand before my God and sing out loud from my heart to His.

Boston is not as dry as I thought it would be. My Father has been speaking to my heart loudly and clearly, despite myself. But it's not time to share right now. It's time to stride into His secret and find myself in Him.