But it's not home.
And for the last two days, I've been hanging on the thought that tonight would be my last night. That Friday night I would be tucked snugly in my own bed at home with my room-darkening shades and my alarm clock ready to lull me out of sleep with my favorite cd.
And then tonight I pull out my calendar to see what time I work Saturday and the evil truth leaps from the page.
Friday is not the 18th.
The owners don't return until the 18th.
And in that moment, I deflated. I was crushed under the weight of cruel reality.
And all I wanted was to go home.