Sweet home, Chicago

My heart starts to skip a beat when I realize that the days have melted away, and it's TOMORROW that I get to spend three long days there. With my family! I think it's been long enough that I've forgotten--or repressed--a bit exactly how much I miss the city, and them. Today every now and then it would occur to me, and I'd get a huge rush of emotion, a welling in my chest, I am so excited to see them.

The thing is, though, now that the time is upon me, I'm scared. I'm scared it's going to be too good. (I know it will. Chicago always exceeds.) I'm worried as soon as I'm back in the city of my heart of hearts, leaving will be twice as hard. And the recovery--the hangover of 36 hours of friends, family, beer, chana masala, and naan--will be harder than ever to get over.

I've worked so hard. This week, as I was driving to my first official tennis match (0-6, 0-6; we sucked hard), I thought, "This is my home now." I like the life I'm starting to carve out here. I am having so much fun playing tennis. I am so excited by the possibility that I might be able to play the piano in a church band. It makes me so happy to socialize with the costume girls, and other stage crew members. And my job, well, that's a big amazing reason to love it here. But the city, too. Things are becoming familiar and comfortable.

I caught myself saying something in a decidedly un-me-like drawl the other day. This went waaaay beyond "fixin' to" or "y'all." And I liked it. I don't want to be around my family having to choke back y'alls. I have finally gotten my mouth around them, and "you guys" is now a thing of my past.