Perhaps it is true what they say and people are the same everywhere; but everywhere is not the same. Sitting in a bedroom in New York, wearing leggings and a vest and socks and still feeling chilly; I'm still the same person I was a week ago but I'm definitely not in Barbados anymore and closer to Kansas than I ever thought I'd be .
The faces and the accents are different, the skyline simply isn't the same but once I'm in a room with a bed and my net-book the fact that I am fifteen stories up hardly means a thing. I'm comfortable here.
I wasn't in Florida and I definitely wasn't on the flight into New York, where turbulence and an ear ache affirmed my hatred of flying. I was questioning my sanity - not just in entering a tin tube and taking my life into the hands of the wind and two men I'll never meet but in taking the trip at all with my friend.
I have never felt so desolate and lonely in my whole entire life as I did in descent to JFK. I was in pain and I felt alone. I wanted to be home with a passion that some would call juvenile. Nothing would ever be good and right again.
I don't feel that way now, not sure where the feeling went but I certainly don't miss it. I'm looking forward to Philadelphia and the hundreds of knitting supplies waiting in my Granny's closet that I have bought and sent there over the last few months.
I said before I am comfortable in my room in my friend's family's apartment and I know it is chilly outside and I don't want to leave. Not for all the pizza, yarn and sales in the world.