Once in a while, I feel very far away from home. Like earlier this week, when I found out my family had to put my puppy, Murray, to sleep. It was heartbreaking to know my family went through all of that without me, and that I will never see my Murray again--the dog I've had since I was about 6 or 7. Just one more marker that the world in California hasn't stopped for me, just so I can live my life here.
But really, only two days out of around 240 that I wished I was home isn't too bad. Maybe Obama will be elected again, right?
But here is some evidence why, despite the hole that is Murray in my heart, the remaining three months I have is just too short. I spent far too long today going through my 1675 pictures from my time in Peru (and a bit of Bolivia) and picking the 60 best representatives of 2.5 amazing months filling my head with more life experience and silly ideals than should be allowed at my age. Not going to lie, some of it is pure vanity. But I'm reading The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand right now, so I'm allowing myself a little vanity.
Paz y amor, and a toast to Murray.
To see my pictures: