I don't really have a home. That is not to say that I have nowhere to sleep every night, but I don't have a "home" in the usual meaning of the word. I don't generally say I'm going home because I don't have a place that feels like one. 5 or 6 nights a week I stay with my girlfriend, the other two are at my aunt's house. At my aunt's place I sort-of have a room but my aunt uses it for sewing as well. I own none of the furniture, my belongings amount to my clothes, my 2 computers, and two copy-paper boxes of random stuff, mostly Lego, that are in the closet. I have no decorations or anything of my own in that vein hanging in the room. At my girlfriend's place, it is a 1-bedroom apartment, I keep no belongings there except for extra clothes and the few tools I use to make mosaics. I do have a pretty pimp car.
When I say I'm homesick I guess it is a combination of not really having my own living space and that I miss my parent's house, because even though it felt awkward there, at least I had a room and I have decorations and that sort of thing in it. There, too, none of the furniture is really "mine" because all the stuff I had bought over the years (5 pieces total plus a flat-screen tv) were basically kept from me by my stupid ex when I left her. She never allowed me to reclaim my stuff. Not that I could have taken it with me when I moved to Canada anyway, but that's a different story; I just got in my car one day and drove up here with some clothes, those 2 boxes, and my laptop. So yeah I miss my parent's house, I miss my family, and I miss Atlanta and all the things there... and I wish I had my own place, or a room anyway that I felt like belonged to me. That's what's making me sad.
"Each night alone I dream, that I'm a rebel Roller Queen‼
I'll be a star that shines, I can make the whole world mine‼"