home again, home again, jiggety-jig
For the first time in eleven months (count ’em), I’m going back home.
I’m not sure what I think about that.
When my brain first started switching over to writing my zip code as “90639” instead of “33068,” I started to worry a little bit in my head. Because maybe that meant that college isn’t just another summer camp that I’ll be coming home from with craft projects and carefully hoarded Snack Shack treats. Maybe this could be permanent.
When I got my first “care package” freshman year, I was thrilled beyond all reason. You’d never know it from my horrible inability to send thank-you notes, but the fact that I, in all of my first-semester insecurity, could walk back to Alpha Chi with a cardboard box that showed the world that someone loved me was totally fantastic.
Interestingly, the packages didn’t stop after my first year like I would have expected. My ever-thoughtful mother has continued to send boxes that arrive exactly on whatever day my biggest paper is due or I’m feeling the most depressed. It’s like she can still tell.
As much as I love packages in the mail, and feeling independent, and having all of the quality friends in the world to hang out with, there really isn’t anything for which I would trade the next three weeks. I’m already planning an itinerary that includes multiple music video shoots with my sisters, guitar rehearsals with Dad, baking and hour-long conversations with Mom, and learning how to build K-Nex from Jonny, who is no longer as much of a baby brother as I remember him to be.
I’m excited about going new places in life…but it’s so good to know that home is still there. And that somebody loves me.