A letter to my homesick side.

Clearly I (the non-homesick side) am the only logical one here. Because if you were thinking with any logic at all, you would remember why you left home in the first place. Not that home (the small, country town of up-state New York) wouldn’t be a nice place to settle down with a family, or even with a hubby to be… eventually. However, I refuse to satisfy my sister and her broken record  saying of “you’re 23 and no where near marriage, get your shit together or you’ll be alone the rest of your life.”

What exactly, at 23, would getting my shit together entail? By finding the first person that I can tolerate for a certain amount of time and settle down with them? I hope not, otherwise the process of actually getting my shit together might never start.

I now live in a city with others, most my age, that are at the same cross-road I am. Where do I go from here? Everything should be all-go-forward, right? By going home I will be taking steps back. Not to mention the endless possibilities of different paths I can take by just staying on track. And going home is most definitely not staying on track.

But every time I slow down, there’s home, tapping me on my shoulder. What exactly is it, that has taken such a big piece of me, that I have to consistently look back?

Remember those long, grueling work days? You know, the ones where you’d have 6 hours at one job, just to head over to your other job for another 6 hours. Weekends? Yeah. What were those? And forget celebrating holidays. Every day blended into the next. We can thank the poor job selection of a small town for that. Here, you have that big girl job. The one that pays the bills and then some and still have a social life.

Which brings me to my next point. You actually have a social life. And not that social life where you go down to the one pub in town and run into old class mates you’ve never actually had a conversation with. You know, the class mates you play ‘catch up’ with although you never really knew anything about them to begin with. I mean, aside from what you’ve heard the small town gossip carrying around. And God help you if they’ve heard it all about you.

Everyone else that actually ever meant anything to you has already moved away and started their own lives, separate from the ones you all shared together. They’ve started their own families and are on to bigger and better things, just as what you’ve started. Well no, not family, but a really stellar new style. And quite possibly new ideas as to how I’m going to start collecting my cats for my future and actually keep my sanity. Yes, cats.

Of course your mother plays a big role in the homesick disease. Luckily, she understands. And it’s a shot in the dark but, perhaps the distance really actually brings you closer together.

And lastly there’s the ex. Yes, there is always the ex. The one that broke your heart and drove you to move states away. Okay, so he didn’t drive you, but you sure as hell weren’t staying in the same small town as him. It just wasn’t big enough for the two of you. And of course there’s the dreaded ‘bumping’ into each other; followed by the drunken “I miss you” and “I haven’t been able to do anything since you’ve left.” Which always seems to end in the “I just can’t be with you” and the breaking of your heart all over again. Usually so loud they hear it towns away. These encounters are usually the reasons why your visits get more infrequent and shorter. But hey, who ever really notices anyway.

And then there’s his friends, the ones that always have to say hi. I wasn’t friends with you before him, and I most certainly can live without being friends with you after him. Sorry.


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