Tonight, I was reading Women in Love by D.H. Lawrence at a coffee shop in Colonial Williamsburg. I sat outside to read/people watch. A large group of teenage girls approached with two adults. Immediately, I saw my delightful time with a cappuccino and a stellar book exchanged for constant chatter and smack talk. Unfortunately, I think I have a prejudice against teenage girls as I find them the most irritating of all social groups.
Anyway, the two adults asked me if I was a local. I hesitated and said, "Well, yeah, I guess." I think this made me look dumb. They then asked me for some recommendations about food. I gave them five. Five. I've been two five restaurants in town. I'm able to give decent recommendations. I can't imagine being a local in any city other than my home. This makes me think, "how does home change?" or "does home ever change?"
Granted, I'll be leaving Williamsburg in a week, so this question isn't all that pertinent. But, right now, home is where my parents are. Am I adult if home is where my parents are? I don't know about that and I guess I don't really care because my parents rock.
So, thoughts of home. Not surprised that issues of home are in my mind since I live on a Super 8/RV.
On Saturday night, I was all by myself. I said, "Bump this, I'm going out." And so, I got dressed up (put on jeans) and went out to a swank French restaurant in Colonial Williamsburg. I ordered myself a bowl of French onion soup and considered myself a young professional, if for only one night. It was a nice night. Being alone doesn't always feel lonely, you know?