in Four and a Half Hours...

Right now, I am in the final stages of packing to escape a week that has been both wonderful and horrific. A week that has reduced me to a mess. I'm going back to the town where I was born.
In 2 and a half hours, I get on a train that goes dead south from Chicago to Champaign.
In four nd a half hours I'll be there. Home, if thats what you can call it.
Home to Andrea, who is a bitch and stops by for 15 minutes when she says she's going to spend the night.
Andrea, who whines and tells me to shut up if I'm sad.
Andrea, who makes fun of me when I won't smoke pot.
Andrea, who fed me, housed me, and gave me cigarettes all summer.
Andrea, who plays guitar for me to sing along to.
Andrea, my first husband.
Andrea, my best friend.

This city really is killing me right now, between relationship breakdowns that can be patched up after all (thank god) and hoboes when I get lost in new places.

I'm going to see the stars for the first time in a month.
People usually say that home is where the heart is. For me, home is wherever I lay my head. I don't know what that means, but I can truthfully say that getting on the train is taking me home, and getting on the train on sunday to come back will be taking me home, and the next time I head out to Crete I'll be going home.
Home is the place that I'm gonna sleep tonight. Home is where I'm going to see the people I love.
I ain't got no solid home in this world anymore... I'm always home.
And in four and a half hours, I'll be home for the first time all week.