Home. Sick.

I'm trying really hard not to be homesick.

I really am.

I'm trying to accept my transition gracefully, to be thankful for this roof and for my family's providence.

But Tampa's weird ones call to me daily.  I catch whiffs of salty gulf ocean so ephemeral that I wonder if I just made it up (I did).

I miss it, y'all.  I don't want to raise my babies in bama.  The religion is FUCKING OPPRESSIVE here. The politics are terrible. And I have to seek out my weird ones instead of just stumbling upon them on Ybor's street corners. I want my children to be surrounded SURROUNDED by weird, to be free to be atheists or buddhists or whatever they feel called to be without fear of ostracization, to be within minutes of restaurants and houses of worship and places of business that are all owned, operated, and frequented by folks outside of that "white straight male" box.

Your babies drive you to make the changes that you should have made years ago.