I walked out of the elevator and tried to remember which key fits the deadbolt on the door of the condo I've owned in Chicago for more than six years. It felt weird coming home after almost a month in Australia. I'd really immersed myself into life there and now I didn't know what to expect.
Dropping my bags in my living room, I walked to the kitchen and tentatively open the refrigerator like you would after a friendly host tells you to "just make yourself at home." Nothing much to eat.
Where to start? Since Thanksgiving is a postal holiday, I knew I wouldn't have mail waiting for at least a day or two and laundry could wait.
Too tired to think about getting anything done, I got ready for bed. Couldn't for the life of me remember how to turn on the bedside lamp and thank God I didn't have to set an alarm.
Woke up in the middle of the night and knew I had to pee. Muscle memory took me to the bathroom, but I really wasn't surprised to find myself fumbling around on the top of the toilet tank for the half-button to flush. (We have a lever on the side.)
This is home, huh?
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