I have been so incredibly irritated at things lately - particularly some things happening at work, which I refuse to delve into here. Suffice it to say that it's left me feeling down, and counting down the hours until I come home and back to my little safe place. That feeling I get when I'm on the bus and on the way home is what is keeping me together; knowing that in just a few minutes, I'll be home.

Home.

I'm still in two minds when it comes to home. For one, home is here. It's where J is; it's where Oscar is, it's where I can relax and switch off and just. stop. thinking. At the moment, that home is our rented little flat in a terrace building in West London, with its beautiful high ceilings and wooden floorboards. Prior to this, home was our apartment near Canary Wharf, with its ground floor (and somewhat pointless) balcony and bathroom that always smelled slightly of mould.

But then, in two weeks time, I am going home. Home, home! To the place where my friends are, where my family is, and where J and I will eventually head back to.

This next two weeks can't go by fast enough. I can't wait to go home.