I Refuse To Admit That This Is A Sunburn, Home Sick Edition

I'm a bit toasted.
A bit crispy.
Deeply tanned.

But certainly not burnt.
Even though my skin is red.
And it stings.

But it's not peeling.
I doubt it will.

No. This is not a burn.
I don't get burnt.

Certainly not in California, anyway. I only get sunburns in the Caribbean.

As usual, though, I'm home sick.

For New York City.
For Europe.
For Pleasant Ridge.
But most of all, for Toronto.

I want to sleep in my crap "bed".
And make disgusting food in my "kitchen".
I want to get off in my "apartment".

I miss my bike. So much. I miss feeling that free.
I miss my friends. I can't wait to go to the beach and to movies with them.
I miss my knee pads. Forget rollerskating without them.
I miss Canada's drinking laws. Because even though I don't really drink, it's always nice to not have people say, "No. You're too young."

And for the love of God, I miss my fucking vibrator. And living alone, for that matter.

I miss my high-speed wireless internet connection.
I miss my dvd collection.
I miss Parkdale.
I miss the summer weather.
I miss sesame snaps.

I can't wait to go surfing on Lake Ontario.
I can't wait to play soccer on the nude beach on the Islands.
I can't wait to get back to the bike shop.
I can't wait to have my Mum visit.
I can't wait to be naked all the time.
I can't wait to reunite Jimmy and troll Toronto.
I can't wait for late night bike rides, midnight swims, and falling off surfboards.
I can't wait to celebrate Harry Potter's birthday with my bestfriend.

I can't wait to be home.