Lately, my eyes have been brimming with tears for what appears to be no particular reason. I don’t know if there’s a word for that or not but if there isn’t, there certainly should be.

I mean, I’ll just be sitting there reading a book or watching television and all of a sudden I’ll have to turn my eyes away and wipe them with my forearm or a tissue or something in order to clear the mist.

It’s weird, I can feel them coming but I don’t know where they come from or why they’re coming in the first place.

I'm going home today. Yep, back to my own place with my own stuff and my own rituals to attend to.

Although my place pales in comparison to the place I’m staying, I’m still happy to be heading home. My place has no air conditioning, no cable television and 150 channels to choose from or no Internet access. It doesn’t have a modern kitchen or a dishwasher or a washer and dryer or a bathroom on the first floor. For the most part, I have to climb either upstairs or downstairs to attend to some of those needs.

There are no gardens, no koi ponds, no front and back decks, or no gas grills. There no butterflies or no hummingbirds with which to distract me or keep me company. There isn’t the silence of the country or the view of the occasional deer as it skips by the back window. As a substitute, my place offers a pretty steady stream of traffic and the occasional squirrel.

For awhile, I couldn’t figure out what the rush was, why was I so eager to get back to a place that by modern day standards, doesn’t have much to offer? Then I got myself to thinking.

I thought about those little marks on the wall and why I stepped in the puddle. I thought about hugs and helplessness and the closeness of my neighbors. I thought about money well spent and how that most of the time good things rarely happen after midnight. I thought about some of my neighbors and how she wanted to go to Paris and the turd world war and the quiet girl. I thought about that musty smell and afternoons spent on my tiny little porch, just sitting there, nursing beers and watching the world go by. I thought about a good kid and what it must feel like, just sitting there until the phone rings.

I thought about dusty bookshelves and broken in furniture. I thought about photo albums and stopped clocks and a child’s drawings scotch taped to the front of the refrigerator. I thought about armies of stuffed animals and closets full of board games. I thought about the pile of clothes hidden away in a closet that don’t fit anymore but I just can’t seem to get rid of.

I talked to Anna last night. They won their soccer game 4-2 and she got herself a little bloody nose when she got hit in the face by the ball. I asked her if she cried and she gave me one of those “Oh Da-ad” things that she does when she’s frustrated with me and said she kept playing until the referee’s noticed and they stopped play.

We may have more in common than I originally thought.

She’s coming to my place tonight. She wanted to spend an evening with me and her mom will pick her up in the morning and take her to school. Maybe I’ll feel well enough to take in one of her games this weekend.

My eyes are brimming up again.

This time I think I know why.

I get to go home.