Stomping the Old Grounds

When my plane landed in Boston on Saturday night, I started crying.  I don't know why I wasn't prepared for this.  Instead of giving in and looking out the window, I turned up my HGTV and tried hard to be interested in home renovation until the plane came to a stop at the gate.  Then, I eagerly made my way through the airport, got out the door to wait for my ride, and began to seriously sob uncontrollably.  Under the buzz-light of the airport pick-up area, with all of the happy people hugging one another.  Ugh.  (I've mentioned this scene to a few friends, and each of them has said, "Like "Love Actually!," and I tell them I've never seen it, and apparently I must.  So I will.  Soon. I promise.)

This is how Boston has been treating me.  I'm so excited to be here!  I'm so sad I can't drop my stuff off at my old house!  I went to Christopher's for buffalo tofu, which was at the top of my to-do's, but it hardly tasted the same without Matthew and Carter (but it was also more amazing than I remember).  It still feels so very much like home.  I know the train by heart.  I went into CVS and bought hand lotion, and I knew exactly where it would be.  Things look exactly the same, down to the barista at the Harvard Coop. I'm surprised how little things have changed in the past almost-two years.

Anyway.  I'm happy to spend the week here and for poetry and reading books and spending time with wonderful people (and spending time alone).  And while there are so many fun things I'm excited to do again (most involving food), I don't think I'll be able to go to Davis Square without causing a scene... This morning, I thought of the time Carter and I were eating pizza at Mike's at Davis Square and watching coverage of the Balloon Boy, waiting for Matthew to join us.  Such a silly memory, but I almost hyperventilated.

Home is always so much more elusive and substantial than I pretend it is.  What a funny little construction.  It makes me laugh a little.  (And cry. Blurgh.)