today in mildly life-changing revelations

There are things I miss about my house and hometown—six-story library a fifteen-minute walk from my house, a kitchen that works, stores that have clothes which fit me, a vacuum cleaner, a keyboard in my room, an easily-accessed washing machine, high-speed internet, my friends—but I'm less and less sure that I want to go back there. I don't think I'm good enough at the violin to stay here, but I think I might want to. On some level, I don't want to go back and live in that lovely house where everything is great except me; I think I want to take what I have here and build something that works. I love these people, I love this city, I love going to a music school and hearing people singing or playing all the time.

I am totally a homebody. But, um. I think this dinky dorm room with inadequate facilities at a school I only sort of like in a country where I can't really speak the language might be home?