Blowing smoke-rings of belly-steam

Things get confusing when I'm scampering all over the country, specially when the aforementioned scampering follows a more global-type of scampering. It gets even more complicated (or perhaps, less) when my post-summer vocabulary has been, as it always is, whittled down to about 1/3 it's original size and the vast majority of my feelings, observations, questions, hypotheses come out as "Rad!", "Shut up!", "Classic!" and the like.

I left camp, after 3 months of living on a little island where dirt under the nails was the norm and the introductory packet, which I haven't read for 3 years, tells you don't bother to bring a hair dryer. I headed south, through a city in which I spent a year and left feeling drained and confused. Though in this visit, I left with an understanding that I'd found a family during that year when I felt sick and tired for the majority of the time, a re-writing and a re-wiring of the stories I'd told myself about that time up north. As I traveled south this time, I felt encircled by a group of really special people who think that I'm really special, and it felt really good.

I drove to Corvallis with a great new friend and had some good family time with she and hers, ate fresh-caught tuna, played with kittens, bakes scones, and went on my way reluctantly.

I drove to Arcata, and had the best time. I stayed longer than I'd intended (thank goodness), mostly because my understanding of days, dates, and times is shaky at best since 3 months of staring at deer and exclaiming "Wait, what day is it?!". Great food, great days of extended sleeping, great family time, sister bonding that usually goes in fits and bursts and in the company of a whole host of other people, events and exhaltations.
"This is my sister!"
"Oh, wow! It's great to meet you."
"You too!" Me beaming. Hug Sarah. Things couldn't be any better, I swear.
And for a few days I forgot that I really miss my island with the deer and the dirt, and loved the fog and the layering in clothes that weren't entirely fleece-based. And I loved the heat when we caught up to it (outside of Arcata, of course), and the river and drinking beer (one is plenty after the summer I've had) and reading (endless pleasure after the summer I've had), and making new friends even as I'm relishing in those ones I've forgotten how to be without.

I left (implied: later than planned, even if still on the day), and felt like this for a million reasons when asked how I felt about going home:

Ummmmm...

And there are different parts of this "um"- the home part, and the returning part. They're different questions- am I returning home? How is it returning?

Back in the Bay, I've got not much to say except that I'm here, and my brain's come loose.
Why then, Alex, would you choose to share this with your vast and exhaustively literate audience?
Great question reader. You tell me. No? Well. Moving on.

I'll leave you with that. That's to say, with nothing more than a mind gurgling with things that are hard to articulate and give off a scent that's alternately intoxicating and revolting. Life, right? Classic.