Where the heart is

The hiatus is over; apologies to anyone who will manage to finally read this. Time at home is always a whirlwind of boredom - I get nothing done and the minutes tick by until suddenly I'm packed into a car and shot out onto the airport curb. This is the first time I didn't cry at the airport (yeah, I'm a terrible softy) with sudden homesickness and remorse at my leaving home again, never quite sure when I return. That's really the hardest part - never sure when I'm coming back, always a little afraid the cat will be gone (he's not himself these days, mewling in doorways and sleeping more than ever) or something will happen to my parents. But this time Ethan was with my to haul luggage and hold my hand on the jetway and placing me in the odd paradox of leaving home to go home. Perpetually I am torn although legally my choice will soon be made and in my heart I know that here with him is right. That doesn't make it easier to walk away from twenty-three years of history though, with a mother who taught me the proper use of those sad, begging, puppy dog eyes. Don't leave, she says, Will you come back here to live? I hope so. But right now is it here that I am living - in Chicago, with my Ethan, on these pages. I won't disappear for so long again.