I took advantage of a trip to New York for work to do a little visit to the homestead in Hunterdon County, New Jersey. Yeah, New Jersey. Armpits, assholes and shopping malls.
Except my neck of the woods there is more like this:
And the little towns are full of old Victorian homes, like this:
You probably heard that it freakishly snowed. It did.
But it got melty pretty quickly and I got a bit of treatment for my autumn withdrawal.
I got to see my family. This is one of my family type persons:
Spending time with my family is a mixed bag. The house is seriously getting borderline Hoarders. There is constant bickering and swiping and seemingly purposeful pushing of buttons. They don’t typically spend quality time together, so there’s a pervasive awkwardness of people making an effort to be there, which they’re doing for my benefit.
So, it’s hard. And I do a crap job of being patient and kind and understanding. Instead, I feel angry and frustrated and just want to withdraw into a nap or a novel.
Much like my failed intentions to workout while travelling, I had visions of cooking lovely wholesome meals that we’d enjoy together. But the kitchen’s too gross for me to deal and no one seems interested and something about being there saps out my pep. Instead, we got pizza and watched movies.
I was ready to go back home to my small tidy apartment and my wonderful David, and was reminded of why I’m not eager to go more often. And yet. And yet.
It still breaks my heart to leave, every time.