I miss you. Sorta.

Today marks three months of traveling. Three months without a job, a routine, high heels, or mashed potatoes. Tough, tough life.
Actually, right about now I am feeling the first tinges of home-sickness, mostly in the form of weird cravings for stuffing and yellow mustard. In thinking about it...

I miss peanut butter.
But I don't miss jelly.

I miss the radio.
But I don't miss the news.

I miss my mom.
But I don't miss phone calls.

I miss my friends.
But I don't miss having plans.

I miss working.
But I don't miss work.

I miss cooking.
But I don't miss washing dishes.

I miss my bed.
But I don't miss making it.

I miss singing in the car.
But I don't miss driving.

I miss betting on Top Chef.
But I don't miss TV.

I miss paved roads.
But I don't miss traffic.

I miss going unnoticed.
But I don't miss going unnoticed.

I miss burritos.
But I don't miss Los Angeles.

I miss my country.
But not that much.