Soapbox Sunday

I go home about three times a year.

And by "home," I mean a sort of mental institution filled with nine other human beings (and four dogs of various owners) that almost look exactly like me in different ways. These humans often jump on me. They often feed me. They often hug me and kiss me and we all play around with each other. They sit at the kitchen table and watch me act out whatever song is playing on the radio. They ask if they can help me make cookies and then make a point of getting flour all over my clothes. They pin me down and tickle my feet, before pulling off my neon sock and shoe and throwing them away.

They remind me what it feels like when I am loved. I realize, once again, what it feels like to be me. I once again find what I like about myself, what my dreams are, what goals I set up for myself, and what path of life I am marching down at the moment.

So YAY for being given the time to find yourself again. YAY for the fact that, for me, it happens to be around family. YAY for the next time I get to come back.

I can't wait to see who I've become, again.