I'm loving the street.

Imagine now. It is five o'clock in the AM. Rain. Cold. Ice. Snow. While you embrace a stuffed toy, tangled between flannel animal-print sheets, unaware that outside your overdramatic father is attempting to drive your ice covered 600-foot-long driveway, simply in winter tires. Unfortunate for you, he fails, getting the vehicle stuck in the snow that lines the driveway. Minutes later you are awoken by the shrill sound of your mother yelling for you to go help spread salt up the entire drive so they can get up and be at work on time. It is cold. You are half asleep, dressed in yesterday's clothes which you haphazardly discarded on the floor beside your bed the night before. You pull on your peacoat, tie up your Italia's, grab a shovel and slide out the door. It is roughly thirty minutes later before the vehicle is dislodged and out of the driveway. You are back in bed, wearing only your undergarments. Tired and cranky after having just fallen, getting your coat wet enough that it will not be dry by the time you leave for class. You try to sleep before the alarm on your bed-side table goes off an hour from now. Thankfully, minutes before the alarm begins to echo throughout your room the phone rings. It is your mother, sigh. Preparing for slight bickering about the call, you are surprised when she explains that college is closed until noon. Fortunately, the two classes you should have had ended at 12:30. You get back in bed and sleep until eleven o'clock. Waking up, you shower. Make oatmeal and coffee (mixed with liquid honey and chocolate syrup) and begin the seven hours of school work due tomorrow. Welcome to my morning.

That is living at home. That is why I am moving. That is why I spend more time away.