I'm in one of those slumps where I have soooo many things I want to do and it seems I'm never doing any of them. I can't get far past the idea stage on anything, not just crafts but everything cleaning my room, reading books, sewing, cooking, baking ... anything. Well I'm sitting next to my window which I had open for a few minutes, yes it feels like -8 outside but sometimes you just need the fresh air inside. Not that Harbin air is particularly fresh but at least my room doesn't feel so stuffy now. Cody is up stares practicing his clarinet and I must get ready to go to my friends house for the evening. I feel I look a little thinner but I haven't lost any weight. I'm growing tired of this big cold place so unlike the sand and waves, the dirt and the trees, the birds and clouds that fill the sky, I miss my home. It's transitioned into a different kind of missing though, I'm no longer home sick, and I find living here easy enough but I feel such a strong lack, like a caged bird or a wiled horse that finds itself fenced in, eventually you get use to it and it obviously won't kill you but deep down inside that longing for freedom will not be denied. I need to taste the cool sea breezes on my face and feel the earth beneath my bare feet, to hear the crash of the waves and the cry of the gulls. I'm ready to be going home.