I'm currently sitting in the airport in Phoenix. In a series of delays, gate changes, and creative attempts at cheap airport nourishment, I find myself on the free wireless at gate A-5, hoping that my departure in "7 minutes" will happen.

Did you catch the sarcasm there at all?

I want to get back to Pasadena. I want to sit down on my uncomfortable mattress and do some more homework. (Hmm, I could it sitting here instead of blogging, couldn't I?) It's funny how "home" constantly seems to change in my world. I want to go home, and I'm a bit curious what that even means anymore. It could be Fairview. It could be Zionsville. It could be Pasadena. It could be New Wilmington. It could, it could, it could.

I guess that at some point here, I should settle on the fact that home is temporary. Instantaneously, it can burn to the ground. Suddenly it can fall apart in an earthquake. Families fall apart. Jobs suddenly end. But I'm glad to know that there is security that I'm following some sort of a call, and wherever the next home ends up being, I'll too settle there. As for now, I'll take joy that home means a large assortment of reading and writing these next two weeks.