P-A-T-H-E-T-I-C. That's me.

I remember one summer, sometime around the time I was ten, my sister and I got to go to Camp for five days. It all seemed so exciting...sleeping outdoors, eating disgusting food, singing songs, doing crafts, flirting with boys( I know. I was only ten. What can I say. I always did love boys). The day came and we headed off with bags packed full of candy and sleeping bags in tow. Hobble Creek Camp was only two miles from our house. I thought I was excited to be there, but when it was time for my parents to actually leave, I quickly realized that this was not the case. I was not excited at all. What if something terrible happened while I was away? What would everyone do without me? They would inevitably be miserable and count the moments until it was time for us to come home. I promptly burst into tears and was completely overcome with home-sickness. I barely made it through the week. I called my family every day and made them come visit me. EVERY NIGHT. Every night for the entire five days of Camp. Don't think I don't realize how absurd this is.

This was my first indication that I am a home body. I don't like being away from home. I don't like adventures. I don't like strange beds. I don't like weird food. I do not like being away from my people.

These days, I'm not much better than I was back in the days of Hobble Creek Camp. For instance, I am currently on a business trip in Blanding, Utah. I will be gone for four days and three nights. Presently, I have made it through three days and two nights. But don't think I haven't called home four times a day. Don't think I haven't counted every minute until it's time to go home. Don't think I haven't cried multiple times, wondering how Gordon could possibly be carrying on without me.

Yeah. Don't think that. Because it's all true. I absolutely cannot wait to get home.