Somewhere along the line Justin and I have both said that "home" is right next to each other. Cavalier with our love, we have each claimed that we didn't need to be in any particular city, with any particular roof over our heads, in any particular style of housing.
If we had known then that from Sunday, April 29, to Friday, July 6, 2007, we would spend so many days and nights outside San Diego, trading our usual school/work routine for hours spent in various health care facilities and our parents' homes, I wonder if we would have still gushed about nothing mattering but our ability to hold hands.
I suppose the proof that we meant it, and still do, is the fact that each other's presence calms us when we are in these places that are not really our home.
I am not convinced that it is truly funny that people who are not related to the people that aggravate each other in families find watching these families in action so funny. Somehow though, Justin revels in telling me that my parents and brother only annoy me because they are related to me by blood. He thinks they're very funny. He thinks it's cute. He says if I were watching him with his family I would think they were funny too--even though he would probably be annoyed.
I do not believe he has a very fair argument any longer.
But hey, right now I am equally annoyed by my husband and my dad. I like to be able to concentrate in relative quiet while I am writing, but Justin is blasting my parents' TV in the next room, while my dad wanders in and out of his office talking to me about Justin "watching nostalgic movies" that are "way before his time" (it's one of the first surf movies ever--obviously my dad hardly understands Justin's penchant for "watching hippies"). Here comes Dad again, talking to himself (no, me) about the neighbors' kids "getting to that age."
I can only imagine that he means he heard them fighting when he went into the backyard to smoke his pipe (after asking me where it was, as if I would have moved it....). I can't actually hear the kids over the surfer narrator on TV. Now my mom is offering to eat dinner in the den, so Justin and Dad can continue to watch TV.
Tomorrow we leave on our vacation. Just me and Justin.
Yes, a vacation. A period of time spent away from home wherein the vacationers enjoy the break from their routine.
Yet we cannot wait to sleep in our own bed. We crave routine.
I think though, that once we get on the road (cell phones off! like a good old fashioned vacation! I'm not even allowed to blog! (a rule I don't think I'm actually going to let Justin make for me) no contact with people who know us!), we will be fine with going north instead of south. Sure, we have recently spent two weeks away from San Diego, but obviously that was not a vacation (though I'm sure if we had regular jobs it would have swallowed our vacation time whole).
Home is where Justin is. And I can't wait until we get away from all the people who think one or the other of us is already home.