It was all a dream.
4 months whizzed by so fast. Now that I'm sitting on my bed blogging at home, I feel as NY was a dream. My parents are relieved to see me and they keep asking, "isn't it good to be home?" In a way, it's nice to meet familiarity again, but I can honestly say I could do without it. I've come to love and appreciate NY in a way that TX can't fulfill. My mom thinks I'm crazy but I can't explain it.
Every chance they get, they ask "is your bed at home better or the bed in NY." Well, of course my bed is better, but that doesn't outweigh my experience. Then it's discussions about my weight, my little brother, my health, etc. The stress comes in waves. The dream is gone. I truly left my heart in NY. I've decorated my room with NY paraphernalia. It's a happy nostalgia that I want with me always.
On my way to the airport, I had a tough time getting my bags in order. I checked in two bags, one over sized, and carried on 3 huge bags. When i checked in my suitcases, the man whispered to me, "it's customary to tip." I looked around and not one person tipped. So I looked at him, pulled out my wallet and said aloud, "I only have two dollars...do you want my two dollars?" He was embarrassed and said, "i don't want it, but it's nice if you give it." In a very NY manner, I was smuggled two dollars before I left the city. Beautiful. I just gave it to him because I gave him grief about my bags.
When I got into the airport, i had to go through security, a feat in itself! This old man saw that I was struggling with my bags (3 bags, 2 jackets, a scarf, and a huge blanket) so he gave me a hand and carried one. We got to talking and he walked me to my gate. He's like...65 and still working! He's so charming and sweet that he treated me to breakfast. That's so nice because I probably wouldn't have eaten anything all day.
When I got to Atlanta, the tears started coming. I'm leaving the city for podunk texas. That's what it came down to.
As much as a i love family, the stress is sometimes overbearing. I'm constantly reminded why I can't stay under my parents roof for too long.
Naturally, the first thing I do when I'm at home is weigh myself. I'm 115 now. Shoot me.
I'm exercising until I shed the weight. Looking healthy = looking chubby. Sigh.
Every chance they get, they ask "is your bed at home better or the bed in NY." Well, of course my bed is better, but that doesn't outweigh my experience. Then it's discussions about my weight, my little brother, my health, etc. The stress comes in waves. The dream is gone. I truly left my heart in NY. I've decorated my room with NY paraphernalia. It's a happy nostalgia that I want with me always.
On my way to the airport, I had a tough time getting my bags in order. I checked in two bags, one over sized, and carried on 3 huge bags. When i checked in my suitcases, the man whispered to me, "it's customary to tip." I looked around and not one person tipped. So I looked at him, pulled out my wallet and said aloud, "I only have two dollars...do you want my two dollars?" He was embarrassed and said, "i don't want it, but it's nice if you give it." In a very NY manner, I was smuggled two dollars before I left the city. Beautiful. I just gave it to him because I gave him grief about my bags.
When I got into the airport, i had to go through security, a feat in itself! This old man saw that I was struggling with my bags (3 bags, 2 jackets, a scarf, and a huge blanket) so he gave me a hand and carried one. We got to talking and he walked me to my gate. He's like...65 and still working! He's so charming and sweet that he treated me to breakfast. That's so nice because I probably wouldn't have eaten anything all day.
When I got to Atlanta, the tears started coming. I'm leaving the city for podunk texas. That's what it came down to.
As much as a i love family, the stress is sometimes overbearing. I'm constantly reminded why I can't stay under my parents roof for too long.
Naturally, the first thing I do when I'm at home is weigh myself. I'm 115 now. Shoot me.
I'm exercising until I shed the weight. Looking healthy = looking chubby. Sigh.
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