Sunday, February 8, 2009


Leslie and are are in Orlando for the weekend for her cousin's wedding shower. It's a brief trip; just Friday to Sunday.

While Leslie and her mother went to the shower, I went out for coffee with our friend Kevin. Kevin was the guy that married Leslie and I. He's doing great, and I had no idea how much I missed him. After Kevin and I parted ways I immediately began to to wish I was living back in Orlando. We left behind a few great friendships when we moved to Atlanta. Kevin revealed that he and his girlfriend have plans to move to Gainsville in the Fall, so even if we moved back he wouldn't be here. And who's to say if all of our Orlando friends are planning on staying here anyway?

What is it with people and their inability to stay on one place. Yes, yes, I am guilty of my fair share of moving as well.

Whenever I return someplace I haven't been in a while I start to remember all the good times and wish I could stay. This happens mostly in Orlando and in Connecticut Why is it harder to recall the miserable aspects? Like how in Orlando I would sweat profusely just from walking to the car? Or how I can't go to the mall near my hometown without bumping into half my high school graduating class.

Driving back to my in-laws house I began to get sad when I realized I don't really know where my home is any more. I mean, in all honesty, my home is wherever Leslie is, but I can't decide what specific part of the country is most dear to me. If something were to happen to me and Leslie had to bury me, where would she do it? Or where would be the best place to scatter my ashes? I guess it's more the people then the places that I miss. Maybe I should have myself dismembered and everyone can have a piece. Hmm, I wonder if I can manage to make this post a bit more morbid.

I meant what I said earlier: Leslie is my home. I don't care what happens to me when I'm gone, but while I'm here I'm going to enjoy it. And even though I don't get to see my friends and family as much as I like, the times I do see them are always special.

What is a home anyway? A place? A person? A memory? Damned if I know. I may never know. I guess part of the journey is finding out.

-- Post From My iPhone

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