motoring

Short trips home are always the best. Right now, my parents are grasping for more to talk about, and I am all talked out. All my petals are curled up into a tight bulb; of course, this would presume that I am a flower, and oh, I am so not. I am more of a prickly thorn.

It rained, and then it rained some more. It rained the entire three-hour drive home. It's still raining. The good part about the rain, though, is that the hours preceding it were slightly warmer than normal, which made braving a Vermont morning in a suit a bit less daunting.

The thing is, my parents and I have this strange relationship, which has a very distinct shelf-life. It is approximately 24-48 hours. After that, they lose interest in what is going on with me (and I've been stuffed with food as if I was a refugee), and my mom goes on her kick about informing me of the big three: marriages, deaths, and births. Since they are always pertaining to people I have met less than three times in my life, that gets old very quickly. In the next stage, the phase where my parents start chatting with each other about me, while I sit nearby. Now, we're in the final stage, where my parents hover nearby, not really doing or saying anything, just simply occupying space nearby, as if this somehow brings us closer.

So, yeah, we're a little dysfunctional.

But tomorrow, oh tomorrow, damn the rain and the rush-hour traffic. Tomorrow, I am flying home. This weekend, I stay in the city, the whole weekend. This suddenly feels special to me. What's even more special is this- next week, I do not have to travel anywhere either. I will be spending most of that week cleaning and decompressing, and figuring out my next game plan, how to rebuild it- better and stronger.

Off-topic, I've never taken a drive in New England when the radio station has neglected to play the following two songs: Sister Christian by Night Ranger and Over the Hills and Far Away by Led Zeppelin. It's nice to see some things remain constant after all these years.