"I've already made up a song" He reached for my glass of water that was sitting on the coffee table.

"Don't touch my water."

"I've already made up a song"

What?"

"I've already made up a song."

"Mad up a song for what?"

"Made up a song for my band. I'm going to make up another one in a minute." He skipped off, singing a song about protection and trust. 

I had gone home for the weekend because that corporate giant Starbucks decided to give me a day off. I drove home surrounded by my ever constant fear that my tires might explode [because they usually do], with my music turned down low. It was good to get out of my apartment. I had spent the week in seclusion, working, coming home, reading, cleaning, and watching the telly. It was about time for me to go somewhere with people, where I could clean and be appreciated, where my family and I could laugh together at the television, and where there would always be the background noise of life. Home. It's always good to go back.

I went on a walk during my week, and found that I was saying my thoughts aloud. It wasn't in the least disconcerting for there was no one around, and it felt good to say things to the empty air and hear my own voice sounding out my own life. I talked about how things had changed, I wondered if it disappointed my peers. Blissfully, I wandered around campus at a slow pace, relishing the solitude. Whenever I came across a group walking past me, I clammed up instantly, horribly afraid that I might have been caught philosophizing aloud. I walked to my favorite spot, an enclave of small brown benches under a fruit tree that was in blossom. I sat for a moment, looking at the sun through the branches. Mosquitos started to bite me, so I started walking home. It was silent, with the occasional bird's song or car humming by. I walked past an old dorm and squinted up at the windows. I heard a whistle. I kept walking. 

It had been a strange week.