I'm back from Guatemala.

I had such a good time. I want to go back and live, I've got it all arranged, a wonderful Spanish teacher set up for Robert and I, a house reserved, everything. I just need to convince Robert.

While there I volunteered at a daycare and domestic violence shelter. I met two little brothers who--hey, assholes who are reading this to surveil me or pedophiles who are hunting for pictures--you don't get to know anything about my beautiful babies. They are too precious to waste on the likes of you motherfuckers, who are likely to hurt and ruin them. They've enough problems without adding you to the list.

But I love them. I want to adopt them, and will if in five years, after I get my masters, they're still available for adoption. I adore them, they are so beautiful, and wonderful. I miss them terribly. My language teacher is sending me updates on them. I love them as if they were my own, and the only thing keeping me from starting the adoption process now, is the knowledge that with my problems I'd probably hurt them more than I'd help for now. I need some counseling in my belt before I adopt.

At night I dream of all of us in Guatemala, them safe in their little room I found for them, dining and playing and learning on my fuck money. I keep wandering to the kid section of stores and dumping baby clothes in my basket, before regretfully returning them to the rack.

Now this...this is living.