Welcome home

Home doesn’t feel like home anymore.

Sure, the dogs greeted me and Weezie the cat made a few appearances, but it’s not my home.

My childhood bedroom with its lime green, sky blue, raspberry pink and orangey orange walls close me in after branching out too far.

I can’t relate to 13-year-old Emily anymore. She’s the one who picked those colors and the bedding. I’m still very colorful, but I shed experiences every time I walk through the doorway. I’m back to the beginning, making the glow-in-the-dark flowers on the ceiling into triangles of Mickey Mouse’s nose and ears. My drawers are full of abandoned poetry books, cellphones and hair accessories. My bedroom door took a beating during my “nobody understands me!”,¬†braces-clad phase.¬†Returning is a bit debilitating and a hit to my morale.

I’m so happy with where I am now.

It’s a new place I am making my own. I’m discovering the area’s quirks, little by little. Thirteen-year-old, metal-mouthed Emily used to gaze in wonder as her oldest brother, Jordan, showed the family around the Chautauqua Institution, an area unbeknownst to us. Now 19-year-old Emily is doing what Jordan did.

I run and check out the neighborhoods. I brought my bike back with me from home this past weekend and discovered a really neat park tonight where I plan to spend a lot of my summer. And you just can’t beat the main, bustling street full of family-owned shops and boutiques. I find something new every time I walk/run/bike down it.

I’m secure with being alone and doing things for me. Running for me. Biking for me. Finding new nooks and new swingsets to swing the evenings away on.

And then watching the sun set every night:

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Everything

This Sunday night thing seems to be a trend for me lately. I guess it’s the thought of facing a full week of school that just scares me out of sleeping. Going to sleep means that the morning comes sooner, and what fun is that? Not much fun at all. I’m a night owl; always have been. I probably always will be.

We just this past week off from school. It didn’t really feel like a vacation to me, though. Maybe it’s because during our last vacation I was in Florida enjoying and exploring different parts of Disney World every day. My iHome blared a song to me every morning this week at 8:02 AM (because I’m weird and am not okay with waking up on a more regular number). 8:02 isn’t sleeping in for me. Sleeping in means rolling out of bed sporting a beautiful bedhead at around 11 and reaching for luncheon fixings rather than the cereal, bowl, milk and spoon. It was a beautiful week, just the same. The reason why falls onto the shoulders of one person in particular. I bet you’re sick of hearing about him. : )

There, of course, wasn’t a day where we weren’t together for at least a few hours. On a few days, we were together ALL day. To celebrate two happy months together, I surprised him with a picnic lunch that we ate in a meadow he had told me about way back when. After that, I went home. Then, I made dinner for him (everything I made was his favorite) and he showed up with a record I had told him I wanted a month ago when we were at the mall after my All-County concert. He remembered the littlest thing, and that alone made everything perfect. After supper, we went up to my room, popped the record into my record player, and got lost in conversations we had while we were in the Octopus’s Garden (the record was The Beatles’ Abbey Road, in case you didn’t recognize the hint I just gave).

Everything seems too good to be true. Everything is falling right into place. Every morning this past week, I thought about what Robby and I would do later that day and that alone made me happy. Imagine how happy I became as soon as I was in his presence and his embrace. It’s the strongest feeling of happiness I’ve ever felt wash over me all at once. It’s a beautiful thing, this happiness. I never want it to go away.

Tomorrow, I return to a school that finally noticed me for a different talent after the performance I gave the Friday before we left for vacation. But, more on that the next time I get around to writing on this thing, I promise.