My hometown has this fun thing called Bean Days. It's the day we celebrate the fact that we're the bean capital of Little Egypt, aka, we produce the most soybeans in the southern tip of Illinois. There's a parade, a rodeo, a quilt show, free ham and beans for lunch, a craft fair, a car show, a tractor show, and other things. This year they even had rides for kids. Whoop-de-do.

This year I even took my boyfriend with me. I thought it'd be fun, looking at my memories of the event through the rose-tinted glasses of a girl who won't admit to herself that she's homesick. However, it was not that fun. It was hot and cloudless and full of people I'd much rather not see again.

My best friend came because I asked her to, but she wasn't happy to see me. My parents were on vacation so I didn't get to see them. I got slapped in the face by the fact that I am no longer friends with one of my old high school friends. I learned one of my favorite teachers is battling cancer. They tore down my school and built a completely new one. I saw my stepsister and her kids, all of whom don't speak to me and my parents anymore because she got into it with her mother, aka my stepmom. My dad's dog, who's basically my little brother, will be dead from cancer in six months.

I'm down to having one friend from high school who still talks to me. Admittedly that's my fault because I'm horrible at keeping in touch with people, but I was genuinely excited to see them and it appeared as though neither of them wanted anything to do with me. Yeah, sure, my friend said she was there because she loved me but she didn't act like it. I guess we've just grown apart.

So I guess it depends on what your definition of home is as to whether or not you have the ability to return to it. I thought I was going home this weekend. Looks like I was wrong.