Slipped

I slipped yesterday. I only wrote about 300 words. I just wasn't feeling up to writing. I was tired and couldn't keep my eyes open when I was sitting at the desk. I did write the 300 or so, but I know I didn't give it my all last night. I was too pooped to party. LOL

Today I hope to get more done, though I'm still feeling rather tired. All this changing of the weather is taking it's toll on me I believe. One day it's bitter cold, the next it's warm enough to go outside in shorts without a coat. Insanity! LOL Winter is not what it used to be, that's for sure and it's not any wonder so many people get sick.

I'm thinking that if I can get this novel finished before my stepson's spring break(the 2nd week of April), and if his mom takes him that week, me and my daughter might be going up to visit my family for the week. If I am able to do that, it will give me a week's vacation away from the routine, give me a break from writing so I can come back refreshed and ready to start the next one. So this is my tentative plan. To put myself on a deadline- I have to finish this book by the end of this month, or at least before the 2nd week of April.

It's been a LONG time since I went up to visit for a week in my hometown. I miss it and I'm starting to get those ol' lonesome blues for it. I don't think I've been up there for that long a stay since December of 2006, so I really am starting to feel like I don't just want it, but I NEED to touch home base again.

It replenishes my spirit to have that bit of time away and once my daughter starts school this fall, I don't know if I'll be able to go up for visits like this, even when she's off for breaks from school.

Some like to hit the spa for rest, relaxation and rejuvenation...but for me...it's heading back to the old stomping grounds, spending time with my family and friends I don't get to see too often anymore, and coming back to my roots again.

Now maybe I'm a sentimental old fool, but my roots are deeply embedded in my hometown. The town has changed a lot since I moved away and sometimes it doesn't feel like the same place, but at the same time, it will always be home to me. It calls to me not to forget where I came from, where I grew up, and how my childhood and young adulthood was shaped by being there.

It reminds me of that song by Brooks and Dunn- Red Dirt Road. It's where the majority of my life's milestones (26 years of my life) happened and to remain true to myself, I have to remember where I'm from. That's where I learned to ride a bike, where I chased lightning bugs, and made my lifelong friendships. That's where my family roots run deep and strong. Where I get my strength from.

And not only that, but it's where my dream of writing was born. And to forget that would be to forget myself. I won't let it happen, no matter how many years I've lived away or how many more I will live way from there. They say home is where the heart is and well, my heart is divided, in a good way. I love my husband and kids and wouldn't trade them for the world, but I also love my family and everything my hometown means to me.

I hope I'm able to make the trip up to visit for that week. My heart aches for missing the closer connection I have with my parents and sister, my cousins, my friends. I talk to my mom and sister practically daily, but it's not the same as being able to gather around the kitchen table, drinking a glass of ice tea and just cutting up and having a nice time with all of us being together. Not to mention that we just never know how long we may have for moments like that.

Here I lead a rather solitary life and even after almost seven years, I still feel like a stranger in a strange land. I have my husband and kids, but outside of that, I'm not sure I'll ever fit in.