My First Home

    I grew up and lived in the same town and house for 18 years.  Since then, I have lived in eight different places ranging from dorm rooms to houses.  As you can probably imagine, I am still very attached to my parents' home.  Although there is new paint on the walls, fluffier carpet, and different furniture, the sounds and scent still give me comfort and fill me with warmth.
    Last week, I had to leave this house for the thousandth time and return to my new home.  I hugged my mom goodbye, and my dad, Phoebe, Maya, and I hit the road for the 13 hour drive.  In my rearview mirror, I took one last glance at my home, which I now so painfully call my parents' house, and said goodbye to my past yet again.
    Every time I leave this house whether it would be to return to school for a few weeks or like now return to my new home for an inevitable amount of time, I develop an ache in my soul that will usually heal with time.  I guess this is a part of change.  All routines must be interrupted at some point, and change must be faced head on.  Each time I return to my parents' house, my memories awaken, and I live as if I were 12 again helping my dad pick out a tie and suspenders and talking with my mom over her coffee in the early morning.  We not only have to grow up but also live the lives we have chosen for ourselves.  Therefore, here I am back in Arlington settling back into my routine and healing from my trip to Illinois.  Luckily, I have PDub and Maya to get me through it.

My new home is wherever these two crazies are.