Going Home

I don't care what "they" say about going home. Hell -- I'm still unclear whether they say you can or can't, but it's not important, because with Thanksgiving on Thursday, I'm going home -- and will be there in fewer than 24 hours.

When I lived at home, I hated being there. I wanted out. Whatever it would take. Having a girlfriend the last three years of high school -- even with it long-distance for the last year (save vacations) -- was part of the only thing that got me through it. Not for the reasons of having a girlfriend, but always having a place to escape...which I did often.

When I came to New York at the start of college, I hated home even more. I finally felt what being on my own (for more than a week) felt like, and I liked it. My mother, who couldn't control me from 20 feet away tried to do it from 200 miles away, and I liked the fact that I could just "go into an elevator" and the cell phone conversation would cut out. (Side-note: Caller ID is the greatest thing ever invented.) Going home was a horrible balancing act and struggle of power -- probably mostly unilaterally. But I hated it.

Now, I'm okay with going home. I even enjoy it now and then. I like seeing my nieces and spending time with my family (in moderation) and I like being able to go to sleep in a place where I control the heat and there are no sirens outside.

Of course, with home comes memories. And there are quite a few painful ones at that. But the truth is, there are memories everywhere. I've been in New York long enough to have painful memories here, and I have to walk by them on a near-daily basis. So I'm kind of over those memories in a lot of ways. (That is not to say that they don't hurt anymore, but I can deal with them better than I ever have been able to.)

So tomorrow, I leave behind New York and everything that comes with it and take 5 whole days away (and an extra night). And I'm kind of looking forward to it.

I just wish it weren't for so long...