The airbnb place on Over Street turned out to be lots smaller than I thought it would be. Our toilet is tiny and everytime I wash my face the sink is so narrow I feel like I’m kissing the wall. Everything is adapting; my face is drying out, I’m moisturizing twice a day, I’m wearing jeans everyday, I’ve memorized a phone number 16 digits long and I have to wear slippers around the house. As rosy as the ideal situation was posed to be, it is nothing but lots of thorns of pricks. Everyone is touchy and tired and I’m honestly quite sick of it all. I wish I had some time alone.