This weekday-weekend (as my dad puts it), I missed Lansing more than I have ever missed it before. The crisp wind, the leaves almost all turned color, the places and the people… I felt at home in Lansing for the last two days, and I haven’t felt that since I moved out in the end of July.

It’s seperate from a missing of . It’s a powerful call, but one I can’t heed right away. I need to be close to my work, at least for now. I need to not spend three hours of every day on the road fighting traffic. I need to spend those three hours with friends and working on my novel. I need to spend those three hours doing something other than making the roads my home.

That’s what I’ve been doing. And the gods aren’t happy about it. I’ve always felt that I need a place to hang my hat, a place that’s mine, a place to put roots in, at least for a year or two. For some reason, leaving the TWP, cutting the road time down, is honestly scaring me. It’s a fear that’s hard to admit, because I crave my independence. I despise relying on people. It just tweaks me. And now… this.

Motivation must come from within. I just don’t understand why the burning need to be in my own place feels like it’s… absent.