It's mornings like these when there is still a glow about the room coming from the blue numbers on the clock and the dawn breaking outside that I wish I was a child again. When I was young, on early mornings before school my father would gently wake me by carefully carrying me to the warm couch in the living room. He'd turn on the news and make breakfast as I slowly woke to the sound of the weatherman listing the weeks predicted highs and lows. This morning, for a split second at least, I could almost feel as if I was there. I imagined my father slowly creeping in, reciting his slow " gooooood mooooorning" and saying " there she is." when I slightly opened my eyes. I could smell the pancakes and eggs, and feel my dogs warm breath on my cheek as she waits by the edge of the couch for me to pat her and say "hello, Chloe."
These thoughts pull at my mind and my heart till I get a lump in my throat. It's hard to think of my dad waking up every morning inside that lonely house with the cold tile and old dog. I beat myself up over the awful things I say when we argue. " I've left the nest, dad, and it's very unlikely I will return." I can almost taste the same metallic taste in his mouth, and feel the sadness weigh upon his shoulders as the words sink in. He remembers those early mornings as much as I do. I don't mean it, dad.
It's these days in particular that waves of great nostalgia wash over me. I become very nostalgic when a thin glaze of depression coats me. It's a form of escape, I suppose. Not uncommon. It was just last weekend when I wanted to drop everything, and drive to Georgia and the places I hold so close to me. So many of my most precious childhood memories are tied and rooted in Georgia's soft orange clay, and cool rushing rapids. I always want to return to those days of my uncle filling my brain with Civil War facts, and leading me down Cherokee trials laced with arrowheads and ancient graves. I want to return to winters huddled in that little cottage covered in snow and gray clouds, with my family telling off-colored jokes around a little fire and a tin full of my grandmother's fudge. Georgia holds a large portion of my innocence, and that's possibly the main reason I guard it so strongly.

I never want to grow up, get a car, wear make-up, or get married. One Christmas my cousin, Amanda and I were given a costume wedding dress. I looked at my grandmother in complete confusion when I ripped open the box. Even when I was small I never understood the importance of marriage. I still don't, nor wish to. Maybe my idea of marriage is attached to my idea of losing my childhood. I'm willing to hold on as long as I can to whatever innocence I have left. This is possibly why I feel so ashamed coming home reeking of cigarettes and alcohol after a night out. I've grown bored of it, and so has my body.

The more I think about it, the more I realize I need more mental stimulation, and drive. When I was more anti-social than now, I spent a lot of time alone. In some ways (a lot of ways) I miss it. I feel myself slowly slipping back into being antisocial again. I'm not too sure if I'm sad about. It's comforting and warm.

What a ramble..

I should have known better. What a stupid decision. I don't even know what to do now.

Miss you, Tallahassee.

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