Ahhhhhhhh airport food. The assortment of artery clogging & wallet raping choices are astounding. I expected the Miami airport to have fresh oranges and pina coladas garnished with extravagant umbrella toothpicks, but instead those golden arches glowed proudly as the cardboard pizza stand appeared to be the McDonald's only competition. I opted for a slice of the pizza with one giant piece of broccoli strategically placed in the middle for no other reason then it amused me. It tasted like one fantastic dog biscuit.. yum yum.
Now that I have put something in my grumbling tummy I've got the longest layover in my life to look forward to- 15 whopping hours! There are only two people in the entire terminal
(1) Me
(2) and the girl working at the hand lotion kiosk who hates her job
I would hate my job, too. Part of me wants to tell her that there are probably other jobs out there that don't require you to pretend to care about the chaffed hands of people arriving to Miami, but I'm sure she is aware.
It is still surreal. Even though I know that I am definitely gone it feels like I'm just on pause, like I'm standing on the edge watching the world spin. It seems that people have two ways of associating what home is. One is upbringing- where you were raised. When people ask me where's home? I automatically say Mississippi, but I know that I will never live there again. Mississippi was the place I came from- a past- it houses the oldest memories but will not be a creator of new ones. The second home has to do with where your belongings are- home is where your stuff is. But what if you own nothing? Before I left Austin everyone kept asking me when will you come home? But this time home isn't something I'm leaving as much as it is something I'm bringing. What I mean by this is that my home is wherever I am. I have nothing in Austin. No job. No house. No bed. No car. No phone. No clothes... Nada. I got rid of it all! and now I'm sitting alone in the Miami airport watching a thunderstorm with the only belongings I have underneath my feet and waiting... This time tomorrow I will be somewhere I once thought as so far away become my present. Tomorrow will be the first time I will have left the country. I'm not scarred or nervous as much as I am delightfully uncertain and anxiously awaiting.
Right now, the earth is spinning 900mph yet no one notices at all. We continue like we do, answering phone calls, cursing the alarm clock, drinking too much on the weekend, spending more money then we know we ought to, waiting at stoplights, making lists at night so we can be productive in the morning... With all this rush- this heave and haul- I wonder how many of us know the eye color of those who love us more than we like ourselves? All these things we've grown accustomed to are the things we don't notice. Just a little while longer and I'll be farther from everything familiar.
The earth is spinning 900mph so I hope you notice all of the things that may be passin' ya bye...
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People tell me that Home is everywhere, as long as I'm comfortable in myself. I guess that's true, but I really feel that Home is where I can feel like shit and still feel like I'm Home. If I'm happy, I can feel at home even in the most unfriendly surroundings, but if I'm sad I prefer a place of comfort outside of myself.
ReplyDeleteI really don't care so much for homes anyway. but I like thinking about my grandparents. they feel like Home.