Home again

I always forget what it's like to come back to my parents' house.
And it's funny because new jersey is not a forgettable place. But it seems that each time I leave (even though I promise myself to not return for too long a period) I come back thinking it won't be so bad. Sure thinking about sitting on my parent's couch, watching free DirecTV, and eating like a pregnant whale (no really, a whale – from the ocean) seems like a good idea. It'll be a nice break, I say. But the anal-retentive control freak in me comes out. Not slowly. Not just a little. But in a walloping explosion of i hate this i hate that blah blah blah. BOOM. Yes, stupid. Yes, selfish. But after not living anywhere near mom and pop for so long, adjusting to those old ways is hard.

I also forget how much my mom likes to feed us. Right now in my house there are so many tempting things to eat. Maybe tempting is the wrong word. It suggests the uncertain outcome of provocation or attraction. Maybe I should say in my house there are so many things I have eaten. Yes, as in they tempted and succeeded and there's no going back. The custard cups, creme-filled donut, cheeses, prosciutto, breads, guacamole, candies, plus all the Christmas leftovers. I've lost all will-power.