Pieces of Mind

The idea of "coming home" is a strange one at this point, since I've realized that concept will be a blurry one for the next four years. I haven't seen the place where I'll sleep, eat, and work on facebook homework for the next eight months, yet in a year, I'm sure I can reminisce about the insatiable heat, crappy showers, and other qualities of dorm room life. For the next ten days where I'm in the home in which I grew up, I'm trying to hold onto every memory and feeling of relaxation, because before I know it, my living situation will simply be another transition.

Not to say that my parents will shun me from ever coming over to down some much needed coffee and sleep in a bed that couldn't also be a log, but all of a sudden, four years seems dauntingly close, and I'm feeling like I have to turn my house into a memory, rather than a place where I can move forward. Even the small things, such as a collection of DVDs, turns into, "Oh I remember laughing at this series," instead of "I wonder when I can have an Ugly Betty marathon again?" It's nice to remember random spurts of my childhood when I see an old drawing tucked under my bed, or the scripts about rockstar twins I spent all of 4th grade creating, but those memories snuggle safely in the house where they were created, and I leave them behind like a worn, tattered jacket.

I'm excited to create new memories in these next few years, but it can also be scary to think that home isn't always going to be familiar and comforting.

Namaste.