I want to go home.

I know this because I’ve gotten restless.  I know this because in the middle of Target I started crying, reading Father’s Day cards.  I know this because I feel like every melancholy song I hear is somehow my life’s soundtrack for that precise moment.

I get like this sometimes, after I haven’t touched home base in a while (in this case, four months).  I look around and I just can’t understand anyone; I feel so completely disconnected.  It’s not until I spend some time back home that I feel like myself again, more rejuvenated, more up-and-at-’em, if you will.

Thus, I’m breaking out of Bloomington this weekend. And if you’ve talked to me lately, you know I’m already pondering where my life will go after I get sick of working two part time jobs here in southern Indiana.  I’m actually anticipating my restlessness at this point, and I’ve only been working for two months.  Was I born to be some kind of gypsy, wandering into random towns, getting bored, and moving on? Until I find a job that intrinsically moves me, probably.

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As soon as I mentioned “life soundtrack” I immediately thought of The Wonder Years when Kevin walked to Winnie Cooper’s house to give her perfume for Christmas, only to find that she wasn’t home, because they left town, because it was their first Christmas without Winnie’s brother, who had died in Vietnam, and Kevin walked home and Joni Mitchell’s River played, and I thought man, that’s so fucking perfect, and speaking of which, they need to put out a fucking Wonder Years DVD box set, because the twenty-somethings would eat that shit up, man.

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And finally, I have a date next Thursday.

Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers.  Just me, Annie, and a thousand other people trying to hotbox an entire venue and dance to “American Girl.”  Fantastic. Having already cheated by looking at the setlist, I can tell it’s going to be an intoxicated amazing night.