I am "home". I use it in quotes because I need to settle in. My stuff is here, but I don't know if I am here. Or if I belong here yet. I feel like an outsider in my own house. The house that I pay the mortgage on. It's a weird feeling. I hope it passes sooner rather than later.
It was an uneventful travel day. My first flight from LAX to DFW sucked giant balls. It was on one of their newer planes which have the very skinny seats. My fat ass cannot fit into those seats comfortably. I was squished and twisted for 3 hours. My left shoulder is killing me from being pushed up against the side of the plane for the entire trip. The second flight to DTW was much better since I was in first. I got fed, I had room to sit comfortably, etc. Landed around 6:30 EST after leaving the hotel at 2am PST. A long day. I got car service home and finally got home around 7:40. From there I started doing stuff. In my mind I needed to leave again so I felt like I had to rush to do everything. I started laundry, went through mail, cleaned up, etc. We ended up going to home depot for something at 9pm, grocery shopping at 10, and I didn't get to bed until after 1am. Hence why I am up at 9am.
I don't think we have anything to do today so I can finally relax. I want to unpack some book boxes and hang some artwork. That's my big Saturday plans. Heck, that's my big plans for the whole damn week.
Maybe then I can feel 'at home'.
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