I want to go home. To Maryland. I want to sleep on my uncomfortable twin bed in my closet-sized bedroom. I want wear all my clothes from High School that I just can't bear to throw away. I want to have nothing to do. I want to make my friends come pick me up like I did for them back in High School. I want to wake up to notes written by my Mom on the backs of envelopes in red felt-tip pen reminding us to empty the dishwasher and feed the cats. I want to spend absurd amounts of time on the couch watching movies with Buffy asleep on my stomach. I want to fall asleep reading The Wolves of Willoughby Chase and all my other favorite books from childhood. I want to be close to everyone, an hour away close. I want to go to the Met, to Velvet Lounge, Market Street Cafe. I want to fight with my siblings. In person. I want to debate going back to my high school and then decide I'm not that much of a dork. I want to debate going to Dee's then decide its not worth the muscle strain from all the fake-smiling. I want to use dial up internet.
Okay, not so much that last one. But, I'm getting that homesick feeling I get when I know I'm about to go home. I really do like Chicago and there is some fun stuff coming up in the next week and a half (Circus class! Office Christmas Party! Improv show! Bears Game!) and I do have other stuff going on to pass the time (full time office work! The quest for the perfect pair of New Year's shoes!) but it doesn't matter. Even though I know that after 48 hours in Maryland I'm going to want to strangle everyone in my family and wish that I was anywhere BUT home, I still wish I was home now.
As I've gotten older its gotten harder and harder to plan going home and its started to feel less like a vacation and more like a contest to see how many people I can manage to see in the space of 7 days. I keep moving things around, making plans, canceling plans, telling my mom she's coming to pick me up at BWI, deciding that it would be better to just take the MARC train, mentally packing my carry on, hoping that my bag is small enough to carry on, trying to figure out how I'm getting all my presents home, attempting to plan a party with my brother, having an internal moral dilema about drinking with my brother and all of his underage friends...
I'm weary. I just want to go home.
I want to go home, too.
Also, PLEASE pick the perfect pair of shoes. Let's NOT have a repeat of last year's shoe FIASCO (walking barefoot around Bmore and complaining drunkenly to cops about it? Never a good idea!).
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