I haven't been home, really home, in eight months.
And by home I mean San Diego and by "really home" I mean that I am not forgetting that I spent a day there before we left for Hawaii and a day there before we came home to Utah. Yes, Utah is where my home is. It's where my church family is. It's where a lot of people I love are. It's where my life is. San Diego, though, is in my veins, sharing space with the blood that pumps through and keeps me alive.
I am actually homesick and I haven't been homesick in a good, long while. The weird thing is, I'm not really homesick for the sleepy cow town I grew up in. I'm sick for the beaches and the weather and the green grass of my college campus and lunch with my mom and dinner with old friends.
These freezing temperatures in October aren't helping.
This isn't a complaining, Dear Utah, I'm mad you kind of thing. I've come to realize that snow in October is always going to surprise me even when I fully expect it. It's just a, Dear San Diego, I really, madly, deeply, truly, long for your warm weather kind of thing.
And good Mexican food. I mean, who doesn't long for good Mexican food from time to time?