Six.

Six days until I leave for Japan.

It's strange. How should I feel? Excited? Nervous? I'm torn.

Part of me wants to get out of here as fast as possible.

The grating boredom of this place has left me with nothing to do but try and make up rap songs to the metered drip of raindrops ticking off the drainpipe. The results are lackluster. For a moment I think that I'm lucky there isn't anyone around to hear it... but no, I'm ready to be around people again.

The other part of me - the sentimental part(?) - wants to clamp onto the floorboards for dear life. As of today the house is back on the market. When I come back to America it's very likely I won't be returning here at all. I'll be transplanted to a couch in my mom's new living room.

And who will live here?

A young family, probably. As they survey the cracked tiles and stained floors they'll probably wonder how the previous owner let it get this bad.

Best they don't find out that the black stains on the hardwood floors were borne out of a neurotic young puppy's stagnant urine.

Maybe they'll notice the poorly patched holes in the walls - a side effect of too tall adolescents who didn't know how to be angry.

Maybe before I leave I'll take a look through the house and catalog these things: the scars my family has left on this house during our time here. The further I am away from them the faster I forget them - and these are things that, for better or worse, I shouldn't forget.