I suppose I should tell the story, but there's too fuckin much to tell. So here are some pictures.
What I like about going home is that makes me appreciate why I don't live there anymore, while letting me enjoy the benefits of the time I lived there well. If I had been more disciplined and less overwhelmed during my time at home, these stories would be written down properly. Now, life has thundered on, and to look at Cooper's immortal documentation of it, I already have to to to "older posts." This doesn't speak well for my time management skillz. Luckily, I can reproduce them here. Here are the best parts of going home:
Bonyards with Cooper. Like an invisible vaccine, it will allow me to live up to 365 days without boneyards with Coop (which still sucks) without becoming morbidly glum.
There we go.
And, because it's so Cooper this picture took him:
There is too much to tell. I've consoled myself by accepting I'm going to fail at it's representation.
A long-awaited reunion:
My gorgeous wife Babs and her husband. I call this the sweet little biscuits picture.
My other wife, my beautiful Crittyface.
My people that have known me a really, really long time:
And the man that was more than enough reason for me, the Babs, and David to drive to Raliegh for new years.
Oh hell. This post needs to be over. Here are some more gratuitous New Year's pics because if I don't put em up, no one will ever see them.
We love David.
Babs...I love that I know exactly what is going through your mind here.
Me and John having a me and John moment.
And, a sexy picture of Abby.
And the things I have no pictures of. My Snark, her hands tearing open a pomegranate in her kitchen, surrounded by her wishes become truth.
Josh Miles, sitting on my dad's old porch we sat on over a decade ago. A decade! Trying to consolidate the past with the fact that this porch still exists.
Anna and Audrey, laughing for hours, at home in the oldest friendships I have.
With Coop, standing by fields and Gino's pond. Hearing my heart tear itself open, promising it that one day I'll buy the land that will mend it. Standing in the place when, one year ago, I sat with my sailor and drew out my intentions on his skin in three straight lines. Mine.
There is much to be grateful for.