I went back to Portland a week ago and I haven't written a word about it. During the three day trip, a part of me wanted to come back home.

This bothers me. Vegas is not home. Portland is. Vegas is a cesspit, but I wanted to come back.

I haven't even looked at the pictures I took while I was there. Gorgeous weather the whole time, ducklings, greenery. I missed the green like nothing else.

But I got bored. I could've been doing homework. I wonder if I'm depressed or if the romance is really gone.

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