I am back in New York, and I have been just outrageously fucking bummed about it. I've been texting with my sister about how much we miss each other, and how the four days I was home were not enough, and just generally moping around in one of those clouds of sadness that make it difficult to do much else.

Since doing anything else is apparently impossible, I guess I have just been thinking about the sadness. In doing so, I realized that I haven't actually lived at home since I was a teenager. Even in college, I didn’t stay home during the summers, except for the one after first year. After the second year, when I was 19, I had an internship in Toledo. After the third, I had an internship in DC. A few weeks after graduating I moved to Los Angeles -- then it was DC, and then it was New York. My longest stay at home in the last 6 years has probably been for my mom's funeral. Basically, I have been far away from the most important people in my life for nearly half of it now, and I'm only 32.

Make no mistake: I am absolutely thrilled with the way my career is going. I had my heart and my mind set on doing exactly what I'm doing now since I was a kid, and it really never ceases to amaze me. I don't want anyone to think I'm not grateful, because I am beyond grateful... I am actually astounded. I know that someone of my background without any sort of connections -- someone without the slightest clue what she was doing in trying to accomplish these things, or even any access to someone did -- being able actually do it is so rare that it's almost impossible. I am grateful every day.

I still can't help but think of the things I've missed, though. I can't help but think that my mom has been gone for more than six years now, and that I rarely saw her the last seven years that she was alive. I do, always have, and likely always will regret not going home to spend time with her when she was sick. I thought she would get better; we all thought she would get better; I regret it all the same.

Yes, I got to help care for her and be with her those three weeks she was in the hospital in Boston -- taking the shitty MegaBus to and from New York countless times -- but I regret not going home to spend time with her there. I, of course, didn't expect that she wouldn't come back alive (we even had arrangements for her to continue treatment in Detroit!) but she didn't.

I think it's possible that these feelings come back every time I leave home. I think that's why I do get so sad about it, sad in a way that may otherwise seem irrational. Maybe I'm not a total pussy -- maybe it's just that, every time I leave, I think about how much time I've already spent being gone. It is really hard, and I honestly just cried a little. (Maybe I am kind of a pussy.)

I will be okay, of course. I have Cam here and I have so much to be grateful for. Sorry if this is too much sharing, but please forgive me...my therapist is on vacation until January 4th.