And if that's not completely fascinating than you can read my entry below:

Life in a house full of mystery isn't so bad. Once you get used to the creeps and the creeks, you begin to appreciate and almost anticipate that fear that accompanies you to bed. I often find myself jumping awake to the jolt of my eyes flinging open, almost in hopes of seeing something worthy of being scared of. Bus alas, all I usually get is a mouth full of kitty tail and a whiff of old pooch breath. My lids eventually fall shut, succumbing to the fatigue which always wins over my curiosity toward the supernatural or possibility thereof.

Morning always comes too soon, especially since my animals seem to believe 5am is morning, putting this somewhat inarguable moment of dawn hours before when I had always assumed it took place. Stumbling out into the new sunshine, my mind wakes up just enough to remind me what I was worrying about yesterday, when I was last experiencing this thing called wake/life. The thoughts are annoying, bugging and stirring me into this day, but I don't give in without a fight and as soon as the critters empty their contents, I demand their place back on respective sleeping quaters and make one last honest attempt at rest, real rest. It comes, eventually, and when morning wakes me the second time, this  round comes gently with a kiss on the nose from Gus and a metaphysical acceptance of a day begun.

Days are weird now. Living in community is one Kara, and another one Kara completely seperate comes out when I live in solitude. The shift always takes a few days, and just like waking, I am stubborn in the shift. Preferring company, I am more apt to lounge with ease, sleep in late, participate in life as necesary and dream often when I live with others. Days are chill, passing and moving without judgement.  With the added influence of other souls, my emotions and thoughts bounce much more rapidly, and I experience highs and lows which can only be attributed to the presence of humans in a pack. I reflect and compare, wonder and question that which is outside of me. I observe, not judge. I watch very carefully and draw little anecdotes from the rare opportunity to almost see another life completely. But alone, living in this large space with no human but myself to see and analyze, I become quiet and judgemental. Days are harder, longer, and easier to pick apart. Push yourself Kara, be productive, don't just sit, DO something. Where are you going? What are you doing? When will you make it happen? Now. Go. That outside person I once lived with now is me, I am the plural so I question myself yet I  know all the answers so I fight,  fight to find whose reply will satisfy the inquiry of the inquirer. Do not think that I am sad in this place because I am not; I am solely the true definition of solitary. Walks become my rescue, my break from self-determination, and I aimlessly shuffle, companion at side, through blocks and blocks of unchartered hood. The houses look warm, or ugly, or big, or sometimes good. I think about the people inside, how they act and how they work and then I reflect on them. Ease, yes ease comes to my self circle, my bubble that builds when living, yes, alone. The funniest part is, in a matter of days I will be back to community living, and I already miss myself.