Andrew and I have 17 days until we go home. Malcolm's coming this Wednesday for an emergency visit, because although you might (or might not) think we're "in the homestretch" and "the worst is behind us" and we should "make good use of the time in Houston that's left," I had a meltdown yesterday, yelled at A who had been not answering me all morning, slammed the door, got in my car because the cell reception's terrible in the apartment, called M in a panic, and kept shrieking: "I can't take it anymore. I miss you. Why are we separated?" Meanwhile, A clicked three times into my cell phone, his name in the screen, and when I finally stopped being a bitch long enough to take his call he said: "Where are you, Mom?" and "Please come back home." He was kind the rest of the day, and sat with me and talked until he went to school.

There's so much shit to deal with when we get back to New Orleans. The worst is not behind us; the separation of our family is about to come to an end, but then we're home for good, with no perky, successful Texas city to drive back to after quickie, dour visits to New Orleans. I talked to my father a couple of days ago - the first time since K - and he's concerned, kind of interested in what I've seen when I've been home, but, then, ready to rush into the Possibilities that being ripped from your home and your job can give you. "A chance to follow dreams" with "a clean slate." Sure. Whenever things got uncomfortable for him, or my parent's marriage shuddered, we moved to another city, onto a pretty street. But what if all you ever wanted was a hometown, because you travelled all day in your mind? And you were tired. What if what you want is to go back to New Orleans, to your neighborhood, to your dry house, and sit your ass back down on the porch? Maybe you don't want to be beckoned by life's highways, because they take you away from the stillness of yourself, and you are completed by M and A because you finally trust that they really do love you, and they're not going anywhere. Neither are you.

We probably won't be socializing much. Everyone's talking about water lines, insurance, FEMA trailers, what they're gonna do if the "wrong blacks come back", and they're looking to lay blame for broken levees, the sorry evacuation, the costs that've been incurred by living in other cities, etc. At dinner this weekend with friends from New Orleans, the discussion turned to Blanco and the job she's done. One of the husbands: "I'll never see another woman governor in my life time." Looking at me, "You blew your chance. She's bad." "And the bad men who've been elected?" I said. "They get more chances?" What the storm's done is bring out the rancor and ugliness that lurks under the veneer of good manners and soccer talk. Unsettling. Is this what this guy thinks about woman day in and day out? Because I wouldn't have known that. I'm sorry I now do.