dr_pretentious | Jun. 30th, 2006

People joke about going to their happy place when stressed out, but I confess, I actually do that. There is one happiest place in the world. I've written some of my favorite blog posts about it--some of my best, too, I think, like this one and this one. Dan and I are driving up to Forestport tonight, and we'll fall asleep to the sound of the river, as we would in any other year. We'll pick blueberries and cool ourselves in the lake, as we would in any other year. It'll be so strange, though, that my grandfather will not be there. My grandfather's death still feels unreal to me, because I didn't get to Rochester fast enough to be with him when he died. Our trip up for his funeral still feels, in some ways, as if it were just a family visit on which I missed seeing him. Once we get through this family reunion, it will really be clear that I will miss seeing him on all the visits there ever are again. For the first time, I am not looking forward to Forestport.

What I am looking forward to is coming home and getting to stay here. How long has it been since the last seven-consecutive-day period when, every day, I woke up in my own state, let alone my own house? And it's been at least five weeks since the last time I had eight consecutive hours of sleep. I just have to get through one more trip, and I can cook my own meals in my own kitchen, be the person who feeds my own cat, be the person who waters my own tomato plants, and stand still long enough for my (formerly weekly) phone call with