It would appear that I will be going home for Thanksgiving. My mother called yesterday and said, “Do you really want to go to Cincinnatti and stay with your Aunt Peaches and all the people she wants to pass you around to?” I told her that, sure, I didn’t mind (although I hate moving from place to place in short jumps–I can’t do hotel-living, even if it’s someone’s house). She asked me if I were given a plane ticket, would I come home. Right then, I felt so bad that I hadn’t at least pretended to be homesick for a while. It’s not that I think she’s been spending her time pining away for me or anything, but the way she asked if I would go back if a plane ticket were provided… She then proceeded to give me her personal credit card for me to use to order the tickets–not my father’s. I felt even worse.

But I am getting to return. I’m not particularly excited except that I will get to see my friends and my mother and it will probably be a little warmer (yay!). (I am a little bummed about the four-hour layover in Chicago that I will have to spend in the airport.) I just feel like I’m… healthier… here. Eating better, living better, not having home life piled onto school problems, etc. No one-week trip should be able to break me, though, right? I’m stronger than that.

Who am I kidding? I’m just afraid that once I have home-cooked food again, I will no longer be able to eat in our cafeteria.

[Listening to “Corcovado” [Everything But The Girl / Like The Deserts Miss The Rain]]