This house.
Not 'home'. Not anymore.
I've lived here since I was born. It's always been Home. Or, at least, one of them. But since my dad died, it screwed everything up. The house is torn apart. The lights are off if possible and the heaters aren't used because my grandma can't afford the electricity bill. I barely go upstairs unless people are here, except to go to the bathroom or kitchen. It's just me and my grandma and I can't stand her.
The atmosphere here was never good, that I can remember. It always bothered me. But now it's worse. It doesn't feel like home. It's cold, dark, empty, and strange.
Also, I've been spending most my time at my moms now, instead of just weekends, which both contributes to it and is an effect of the...lack of familiarity.
Bleh. I can't wait till mom moves, so I can take the dog and all my stuff here and stay there.
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