Every once in a while a feeling comes over me that I can’t ignore. I may have the most important weekend in the world planned, but it doesn’t matter.
When the feeling hits me, I must abide. I have to go home.
For being such a sentimental person, it doesn’t really happen to me that often.
In fact, until this weekend, I hadn’t even gone back home since April.
That’s five months since I’ve seen my favorite puppy dog in the world.(Yes I love my new dog, Stevie Ticks… But My college dog Stella is still my favorite). Five months since I’ve approached a refrigerator that I can only assume grows string cheese and Welch’s grape juice, because I don’t think I’ve ever seen it without in my 31 years. Five months since I’ve filled my belly with one of my daddy’s breakfasts of French or Cinnamon Toast.
It’s definitely not the most fun place to visit in the world. In fact, I would say that it ‘s really more comfortable than anything. Probably the most comfortable place in the world.
I’m lucky to have that. I know that no matter what happens in my life, I have a place to go full of people who love me.
I don’t have anything thrilling to report from the home-base, but I returned on Sunday feeling refreshed and rested.
I ate delicious steak and potatoes, visited with an old friend, spent some quality time with my grandmommy, and got a lot of face-time with my Kindle.
I wasn’t feeling particularly down when I decided to head home, but I know now how much I needed to recharge.
The next time I won’t hold off for so long.