Ok. But is the grass ALWAYS greener?

Correct me if I'm wrong but I do believe it was about a year ago when I was thigh deep in self-pity. TRAPPED in the deep south I LONGED for the days when I could be within an hour radius of someone I was related to, heck, someone I KNEW.
At the drop of a hat I would buy a plane ticket to the North.
I stared at pictures of happy days gone by.
Time was passed indulging in indulging.

Sunday morning I woke up and put on my Saints Jersey.
I went to bed with a headache after screaming at the tv.
The Saints won.
The Saints are going to the Superbowl.
I woke up Monday morning and put on a black and gold outfit.
Nobody noticed.
But I was proud.
Each day I wake up and put on my "flare". Fleur de lis coming out my ears. Emblazoned on my shirt. Pinned to my coat.
Placing orders for King Cake to be shipped to my door.
Tearing up at images of New Orleans.
Longing to be there. Be a part of it. Dance in the Mardi Gras streets. Say y'all and ma'am. Wear short sleeves. Run outside. Catch the sunset over the Mississippi River. Watch the streetcar go by. Shop at "Winn Dixie".

About this time, two years ago, I sent an email to the Principal at Sacred Heart in New Orleans. I knew, I thought, that maybe, I wanted to live there.
About this time, a year ago, I was in New Orleans and wanted to come home.
I think I have the February itch.
I'm certain in will pass.

But I do miss that place.