Flight after cancelled flight gave me much time to chew up at O'Hare this morning. Up and away to Minneapolis, the old home that barely feels like home anymore. I have spent equal amount of years now with my Chicago times, my 312-habitue as I did on the clean, mean streets of the 612, the Minneapolis that is my "from". The last few times I was here, I was still sick from the fumes from my aborted attempt to move back here about this time last year, every street corner heaving and shaking and spitting up some ancient chaos, some teen tumtult, splitting the difference with the then-current chaos and tumult. Mostly I hated coming home because it reminded me that I was the same kind of iron-willed stupid at 28 as I was at 17, kid mind foolish and hastey, righteous and scared and feeling far from god.
But today, on the way in, in this horrid yellow rental with a spoiler, I thought of nothing. The town ghosts gave up--maybe, the mythos has been shucked, finally perhaps. Maybe they are less concerned with me, or I with them. An abscence of care, it's just geography and houses I used to live in.Posted by Jessica at November 16, 2005 11:55 PM | TrackBack