Scintilla post #weekend bonus prompt) Talk about a time when you left home.
Two weeks. I spent two weeks drinking coffee in the morning, walking barefoot on a wooden porch, sinking my feet into grass, watching Doctor Who with my three-year old nephew waiting for my life sentence to be passed. Pieces of me sitting in a lab waiting to show the world what kind of girl I was. Unclean, uncouth, uncovered. Waited a half hour in Penn Station as bored and as tired as the police dog, waiting for a train to take me away, 7 hours outside this city and my skin, trying to decide how long I’d spend on retreat.
I spent one week adoring the solitude, the inability to communicate with the outside world by accident, the lack of a cell phone, of cable television, of city lights and city noise designed to keep you on your toes, running mad. I spent the next aching to come home, to repair the life I’d hoped to be able to leave behind, to repair the body I thought I’d damaged irreparably.
Two weeks in a drafty house, two weeks of chasing after the little one, the cat. Two weeks of scheduled meals, of bonding with my sister over our shared history, two weeks of drinking beers with my brother-in-law and talking about comic books, two weeks.