I'm here. I live here.

I've felt "at home" a lot here in Culiacán.  And I think every day I'm going to feel more and more that way.  But yesterday (in combination with this weekend), I really felt like I was living here.  I was self-sufficient in that I went to Wal-mart walking without needing Mabel to drive me (she was gone and in hindsight, I should've waited until she was home).  I went to church alone on a different bus having only been there once, 5 weeks before.  I did not much over the weekend, which felt good.  I didn't feel obligated to sit outside with the neighbors while Mabel chatted with some of them.  I feel like I'm here.

I think my "being sick" today confirmed that.  There are days in Nashville I just don't want to go to school.  I let myself think I'm sicker than I am, or give myself a mental health day.  I'm truly not well.  I had an enorme headache today and think the heat had truly gotten to me.  But I also think I let myself "feel" sicker since I wanted a reason to take a break.  After a supermarket run, Mabel fixed chicken nuggets (straight from the package, not the birthday kind) and I ate plenty and felt better.  

The biggest confirmation that I'm at home, though, is the disaster that is my room.  Saturday I cleaned in preparation for the cleaning lady who never showed.  I used to get all bent out of shape that we had to clean for the cleaning lady, but I did it anyway.  She's had a habit of reorganizing my things.  Needless to say, I'm not a big fan of that!

It is now Tuesday and my room has been in a state of Laura's high school years for two days I'm certain and possibly three.  Brad used to visit and comment that every piece of furniture that had a drawer, had an open drawer.  And every open drawer had things (mostly clothes) hanging from it.  She was right.  I was a super-slob.  In m maturity and adulthood, I have grown out of that.  Mostly.  I'm relatively clean and definitely organized.

But I let myself go this week.

Welcome home, Laura.