Traveling to Rochester so early in the morning sounds so depressing and torturous. How I wish I could travel to somewhere else like, London, or perhaps France, or Berlin, Greece sounds pretty good to my ears too.

I don't know what in the world would drive me to feel this way, however I may abhor the journey to Rochester, I am kind of looking forward to be in the presence of my mother, seeing my grandfather, ah and eating the delicious food my grandmother makes, of course my brothers endless jokes and love constraints. Rochester is truly beautiful in the autumn though. The duration of Rochester's magic is only in autumn. The only time when it seems charming, alluring and something out of a fantasy world. Somewhere live-able.
How I detest Rochester.

Well, I shall go with a book and my laptop, prepared to finish the book and edit my new short story. Possibly even begin another one. Ah that will be good. I am also thinking about bringing another book so I can read it in Rochester to keep me away from boredom. I am not thinking about buying another book in Rochester, because well, I have a few in my list already that I need to finish before I drawn myself in a never ending book list.

I can't wait to be in my mother's warm, kind, nonjudgmental and welcoming embrace.