Texas Is Like Slippers

Visiting friends and family in the middle of Texas puts your life in California in perspective.  All those minutes you steal from your dissertation to blog, for one, disappear into the communal life of your parents' house.  Cooking.  Cleaning.  Conversing.  You also lose the time you normally use to think about your blog.  Like when you're standing there fixing a sandwich and processing that paragraph you read this morning.  Or when you're sitting there eating that sandwich and thinking about that last comment someone left on that entry you should've thought more about before posting it.  Those stolen moments become the property of others when you're at home. 

You talk to your mother as you grab the mustard. 

You talk to your sister as you slice the bird. 

You talk to your father as you wash the lettuce. 

You talk to your brother as you grind the pepper.

You talk and talk but you never really say anything you haven't thought before because you're on the spot.  With no time to formulate new ideas you take comfort in the ones you have.  The familiar patterns of exchange you fight so hard to avoid in California become old slippers in Texas and you like old slippers.  A history of your feet worn into a pair of slippers your mother bought you when you were thirteen and which she breaks out every Christmas for you to wear again.  You are not the person you try to be in California. 

You are who you are in Texas.

And there's nothing wrong with that. 

Except that you neglect your blog.  Which you won't anymore.  You promise.