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2003-12-29 - 3:01 p.m.
"Home" is an interesting idea.
Whenever someone asks me if I'm going "home" I wonder what they mean...to my place in SF? to my parents' house? to Adam's small apartment? maybe to Laura and Andie's house?
"Home" for me has a lot to do with who is around rather than where I am.
I spend night after night at my parents' house or at Adam's because the beds feel much more like home than my cold, lumpy futon.
Having a dinner of cheese, crackers and red wine at Laura's house feels much more like a meal at home than sitting at my own kitchen table.
Lounging by the enormous Christmas tree at my old friend Danielle's childhood home is way more comfortable than my own living room.
I could work to make my own house a home but I don't want to because, well, it's just not right. The people I want to share my life with aren't there...and why share my life with anyone other than the people I care about?
Sorry, I know you want me to be happy where I am. I'm not terribly unhappy, I'd just rather be somewhere else.
I can be in Bangkok or New York or Timbuktu...I just want to be there with you, ok?
No, no, no, stop freaking out.
I don't want to be with you ALL of the time, that would irritate the crap out of all of us.
I just want to come home sometimes, all right?
Tonight I will go "home" to my own little bed in my own little room and I will get cozy under my red velvety blanket. It will be a little cold and a little lonely and I will wonder what it's like for you in your bed, under your covers, with the traffic or the crickets or the rain or the city outside.
I will pull the covers up under my chin and look forward to going home again.