Southern Comfort

I'm sitting here in my grandparents back porch.

There is a steady rise and fall in the constant hum of the cicadas, the frogs, and the crickets that live  in the many trees that surround their house.

There are four bedrooms. A pool. My grandfather's chair from the University of Michigan, and a pantry full of liquor.

The last time I was here, it was for my mother's wedding to my step dad. I was 20, freshly tattooed, and mid-therapy. I brought a boyfriend into this house I wish I never had - but it's as if nobody even remembers he was here.

It's my husband's 30th birthday, today. Our only plan today was to have no plan. (And then a BBQ. And then the beach if the heavens permit.)

I've had a gigantic spider on my foot, ants in the dishwasher and mosquitoes sucking the blood out of my legs. There are mysterious bugs and reptiles everywhere I look, but somehow the safety of this house makes it all OK. 

It's weird being surrounded by so many people that know me, when I spend hundreds of days at a time, in the company of strangers, unfamiliar buildings, and accents I can't place.

It's nice to know what everything is at the grocery store, while still being in a State I didn't grow up in. There's just a hint of the unknown, rather than swimming in a sea of the unfamiliar, which is strangely relaxing. It's a nice break.

My mind has been churning away lately. In a way it hasn't for years. At least not this intense.

There are some moments that are unbearable. Some are excruciatingly silent. Others too noisy, which makes it impossible to sleep. To rest. To laugh.

Most of them are OK.

Being here is better than 17 days at Promises or wherever it is the strung out and depressed go.

I have sunshine, beaches, family and time off from work. There's a homemade cheesecake in the fridge, and my Uncle had gone to the shop to buy some Absolut, lemons and sugar for cocktails tonight.

The ceiling fan is twirling a way, given us a tight circle of cool air. It's not much in this close, humid atmosphere, but it's enough. We're both on our laptops, not working. We still have a couple hours before we have to be anywhere, which is just how I like things, lately. Something to look forward to, without anything to be stressed about.

My skin smells slightly of chlorine and sweat, and it reminds me of being 10-years-old again.

I've spent hours in this pool. Playing mermaids, Ninja Turtles, "don't touch the bottom", perfecting somersaults and hand-stands. It's weird now, with all of us being older. My cousins can practically stand up in the deep-end. They're all tall, lean, and muscular. They have jobs and heartache and bills to pay.

But, even though we're drinking Yuengling instead of juice boxes - it's like no time has passed.

Personally, I need time to pass over the 9 days. I need to recharge. I need every once that these next 200 or so hours have to offer. I need some change. Some evolution. An epiphany would be nice.

And then...well...

You'll see.

Comments

[Liz]

Rest, relax, enjoy. You deserve it, hun. In fact, I can't think of anyone else who deserves this time more than you.

[Lotta]

It's strange how we come from different countries and cultures, but I feel exactly the same about being home in Finland right now. Thank you for writing this because I think it sums up what most people feel about going home, suddenly being surrounded by people who've known you for your whole life, being in a place that's so familiar it's all second nature. Hope you get to recharge your batteries! And happy birthday to Iain.

[Kzinti]

Some things change and some things never do. The safety you feel now is the safety you felt there as a child. And while you may never be able to truly go home again, every once in a while, you get to experience those feelings again in the same way by visiting those places. I hope your epiphany comes when you are ready to do something marvelous with it. I hope your hubby has a wonderfully happy birthday.