This post really only works if you scroll down to the bottom and press play before you start reading.
I came home for the weekend for the free food, official start of summer and to pick up my Bonnaroo ticket.
It seems every time I get back there’s less and less here for me.
I finally quit the part-time job I’ve worked here for the past couple of breaks; I’m not sure which kids from my graduating class are living at home for the summer and the big kicker? When I grabbed stuff to bring home I left my laundry and grabbed my toothbrush and face wash. I’ve never had to bring toiletries home.
Here my bed is unmade, my winter coats and boots scattered around and thrown on the floor. I can’t find the other side to my old pair of keds and none of my favorite books are here to entertain me. Even my library card is expired.
But even though I had to ask my mother for the spare set of house keys and lost my parking spot in the driveway I got to spend hours and hours laughing with my best friend, airing out my dirty mouth, and getting to see and listen to what she’s been up to for the semester. I got to lay in bed this morning watching Newsies with my sister, trying to figure out what the non-Christian Bale actors are doing these days. I baked a tray of mint chocolate brownies and had help in making them disappear, and now I’m sitting on the couch, watching shitty television with my mother while my dog begs for scraps of food from our plates.
Wherever I am you will always be, more than just a memory
No, I don’t live here. But it’s home, homehomehomehomehome on the range.
Yeah, Bon Jovi, who says you can’t go home?