As I've mentioned about a million freeking times, the word "home" is awfully fraught with complications and hidden meanings for a word that is a part of one's basic English vocabulary.
This evening, like every time I return from Allgäu, Stuttgart, or anywhere were they speak a dialect I can actually stand (don't judge, you), I exit my tram, walk down my inevitably rainy street, and wish more than anything that I was back south. The more often I complete this ritual, the more clear it becomes to me that I shrug on NRW like a heavy coat laden with issues that I just can't wait to take off again next month.
So, in a meek attempt at protest, I now text family and friends with "I'm 'home'" to let them know I'm safe and sound, at least physically if not emotionally.
PS -- I don't know when or how often I'll be posting in the next little while. Should you know me personally, you know I'm going through more than one crisis right now, the biggest of which is occurring this week. Maybe I'll talk about it one day when I'm ready to speak publicly about it, but probably not. If my grammar and spelling is worse than usual, it probably means I'm blogging drunk. This will particularly be the case if Romney starts ruining America (which, crisis itself, is unrelated to my shiznat).
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