Coming Home

First, there's the rush of getting everything done. Not just packing, but dealing with a client, then another client, the errands across town. Don't forget to eat something. Stop by CVS, the mail box, inhale lunch, and fill your suitcase. Get gas. Get the car washed (I know, it's kind of silly, but it brings me luck), then put everything in the car and go.

Even with traffic, it's the quickest six hours I know. I went a new musical route this time and listened to an old playlist. I'm one hell of a DJ, I must say. It was two-and-a-half-hours long. I listened to it twice.

I ate dinner at 85. Miles-per-hour, that is. I drank 64 ounces of water in less than five hours, and only peed once. I made it all the way to Santa Nella for that. I sped through the gusty winds that blew as the 5 was about the meet the 580. I was surprised how cold it was in Dublin. No, not *that* Dublin.

I've learned to compact my luggage over these visits. Even though this is only for a weekend, it's still a tad cumbersome; I have part of a birthday gift to bring. It's rather oversized for something so temporary. I made it all in, gracefully, in one trip.

Immediately there was laughter. Even a snort. And hugs. The adorable alarm-clock was already asleep. The magic coffee maker poured me a beer, then told a joke. We stood in the kitchen laughing, excited for the weekend and all that it holds. And now it's off to bed. A big day tomorrow. A bigger day the day after that. On Sunday, I'll pack it all back up and make the drive again, only heading South instead. Right now, it just feels good to be home.