Going Home.

The school year finally ended. The school year in which I invested most of my time into pixels and electronic nonexistent items within a virtual world. I wonder if I will look back on this year of seclusion and regret the hermit lifestyle I lived, or if I will just accept it as another one of the lessons I learned and lifestyles I had to live to know how I want to live.

As it is, by the second semester I had better accustomed myself to maintaining my time. I'd found more time for friends, school, and the things in life I had begun to neglect since the last summer left me alone. I love my friends dearly, and I know without them life would be empty. Even as their lives change permanently, for the better, I know I'll remain close to them, whatever effort it takes.

I began this blog with the intention of writing about a specific two day time frame, and find myself summarizing feelings of the whole year. To return, I spent finals week mostly in the car, carting items the four hour drive home and returning to school for more. On the morning I was going to leave for the summer, I met with Leah and Judy for breakfast. These little times, the invitations, I so often take for granted, but at least on this day in particular, I fully appreciated what a blessing it was to spend the morning with two people I care about so dearly.

As I drove away from Tallahassee for the next few months, there was a definite lump in my throat, accompanied by a sinking in my stomach. I wasn't eager to return home; last summer had included some of the more stupid choices I've made and some of the most painful losses. At least this time, friendless at home, I'd only suffer from extreme loneliness.

I pulled into my driveway. Seeing the TV on, I wanted to sneak through the side door and remain unnoticed, to cause my mom and brother a laugh when they realized I'd been home for quite some time. However, upon entering the side door into the kitchen, I was met with an absurd sight. A metal gizmo was clamped to the table, Mom was spooning some rather mushy noodles onto a plate, and Dustin was holding a large, flat piece of dough and blow-drying it with a hair dryer. (This piece of dough would never get cut, Dustin would dub it "Supah-Noodle. It was the slimiest of them all, and not even the dog would finish what Dustin had taken one bite of to prove his manliness.) "Andrea! You have to go out back and see my vegetable garden!" my mother said.

Nothing quite compares to family. Nothing is ever as peaceful as returning home to a homemade pasta mess and being immediately put to work in the chaos.