It's a rainy, 64.8 degree day outside.
I'm going home soon. Home to the place I was born. Home to the place where I feel my best. Home to the familiar walls of my grandparents house. The smells of my nearly blind grandmother cooking for me. The sounds of my rotund grandfather bitching at her about everything and nothing. The sounds of their spontaneous laughter when grandpa can't act anymore.
My 23rd birthday is on March 22. I'm not sure I'm ready for this. Never before has a birthday meant anything to me. But this year I'm going home to my friends. I'm going to celebrate with them. So many of them are getting married now. So many of them I had a heavy hand in bringing together. My friends make me the happiest I can be.
I dream so longingly of my home. I hope and pray it hasn't changed, but I know it has. But the best parts can't change. The sky is never so blue as it is in North Dakota. The grass is never so green. The people are never so warm, and the smiles are never so wide.
I'm four days and 1100 miles from my brothers and sisters. My friends, my companions, my family. I wish time would speed up just for me.