coming home

Sometimes there's nothing like coming home, actually being home, to make you realize how much you really missed it.
And its strange, how you've become so unaccustomed to things - to driving, to sitting around a friend's kitchen table with her family, to having to call to make plans - but somehow things still seem to fit, differently maybe, but like its in you somehow like muscle memory, like a sense impression.

Tonight, my windowbox air conditioner is roaring like a truck motor with an accompanying liquid noise. And I have off work tomorrow, away from wiping up ketchup and making milkshakes and serving the entitled. And it is summer and it is finally starting to feel like it and, even if its strange, even if it seems kind of unnatural now, I like it.