I decided, rather last minute : it was time.

I needed to come home.

Brother understood, and agreed. As I knew he would. I wanted to be home for Father’s Day. So I packed us up at 7p.m. and we were on the road at 8:15 and home by 3:45.

T-swift had me in The Driving Zone. FR. Since having FoH, I’ve had a hard time doing any extensive amount of driving that surpasses three hours — it puts me to sleep. Anything where I am sitting and not physically moving pretty much puts me to sleep now.

But something came over me the other night and I was wired. Maybe it was that driving force {no pun intended} of Love; of wanting to be with those that I love, at home.

17 days away was enough.

And love? It shows up for our People. That’s what this was. Showing up.

So finally, I am home. At least for the next month — which is when we’ll head back to The Lake for two weeks.

It feels so good. And right. The house is a disaster. My bedroom looks like a suitecase bomb exploded. I have piles upon piles of laundry to do. I can’t find a clean towel to save my life.

There’s cat hair all over our hardwood floors.

All the things that typically drive me insane and push me over The Edge and here I am — happy about them, thankful for the mundane that also make up the pieces of my life.

And looking forward to getting my life in order, settling in, and having some summer fun, dammit.