In Michigan again. This time, as C says, there wasn't enough build up. Not enough daydreaming and wanderlusting and romanticising for the midwest. Instead my arrival was met with the midwest mediocrity that on a cheery day I would describe as modesty. Christmas was full of treats made from hersheys kisses, gifts from outlet malls, and general middle-of-the-road cheer.

Although they were at the top of my list, I didn't get any books so I had to grab something from my old stack of 'to-read classics' and the only one I had left to read is Miller's Tropic of Cancer. The bustle in the kitchen from my mom making another dream dinner and my dad and sister chatting about renting a movie is just such a great soundtrack to the read.

Change my ticket or finish the novel?