For the first time since I left my parents' house my home smells like me. I first sensed it when I was walking down the hall toward the bedrooms. It was so powerful. It wasn't laundry detergent or perfume or sweat or shampoo. It smells like nothing else in the world, and perhaps I am the only one that recognizes it as me. My parents' house smelled like cigarettes, dog, and meatloaf, but my room was different.

I realize that I have in fact lived in this apartment for nearly one full year (our apt anniversary will be in 2 weeks). This is the longest I have lived in one abode since leaving the folks on Coniston Drive, back in 1997 when I was a 18. I don't know whether to run or rejoice. But it is such a lovely smell...