Not going home for a solid two years makes a place not feel like home anymore, in a lot of ways. The varied emotional states of spending extended time with family doesn’t really make me miss living in the same state, if ya know what I mean, nudge nudge. But I miss them! Of course I miss them. The other weird thing about being home is that unlike most children my age (that would be thirty) who visit their parents for a day by driving to their house in the morning/afternoon and then leaving in the evening, I end up being super infantilized and spending days on end at one of my parents’ houses, sleeping on couches and being cooked for and stuff. It makes me feel young, and dumb, particularly since my last two visits have been without my Jon. But being with friends back in Ohio, checking out places new and old, gives me a weird sense of loss for the life that I’m not living there. The place where I could be living or working or socializing, not just with Jon but with all the other people I love that aren’t living in the UK. A weird parallel life that some other Ashley is living; a wispy ghost of an existence that could have happened had my life taken a different turn or two, somewhere along the line.