I did it again.
Not move, sadly. Although Tampa will always be in my back pocket for those days I can be comforted by escapism. No, today I find myself in London. Specifically, in the lobby of Premier Inn perched precariously between Terminal 4 & a brand new KFC. A vanilla latte that would make your garden variety green aproned barista weep. There's a couple behind me talking about death but their accents somehow make it sound elegant. I don't know, I fell asleep in a cramped chair about six hours ago and woke up here.
I've been told my whole life that when a person grows up they can't ever really find a place that feels like home. First of all, bummer. Big time bummer. As I grew old and restless and set out to make something of myself (as unconventionally as possible because, after all, I'm me) something kept pulling me back to London. Maybe it was the societal standards, the archetechture, or political philosophy. I mean, probably not that last one but my point remains. The last time I woke up here was three years ago and there were times I didn't think I'd make it out alive.
Being back here now, older and with lots of life experience behind me, driving down the familiar streets and seeing the change and the constants, I realize I made myself a home. I forged a path in undiscovered lands, slayed some dragons and got bruised up. But I licked my wounds and I'm back. Mamas home.