Sometimes when I’m with people I don’t know well, and who don’t know me, I feel sort of like I’m on vacation or on a business trip and I’m comfused about the system, or the way the money works, or how to ask if I can go to the bathroom. Sometimes I feel like they speak another language (or maybe I do). And all I want to do is return back home again. There’s something so reassuring remembering the comfort of where you came from. And that no matter how foreign the matter is (over a work-lunch, as a “team player”), no matter how uneasy you feel about the lack of laughter or the way someone looks away after what you just said, in the back of your mind you know that someone where you came from knows the way your mind works and how your clumsy body is forced to exist within an unforgiving, judgemental space on a daily basis. At home, there is nothing to forgive. (i.e. Oodles of Noodles Jogged Comfort Zone Mihow)