I've been to Idaho before. But I don't remember it being the way it is today.
Granted, I don't even remember that trip to Idaho because I was, liiiiiike...two? Maybe younger? All I remember of that adventure comes from the stories people tell me, and the abundance of photographs in the basement showing me talking to a bronze statue of a little boy.
Funny how stories and photographs can become memories in our heads of events that we participated in, but don't actually recall.
But that's beside the point.
Idaho is, in my opinion, a weird place. The main reason?
There are no mountains.
Seriously. Compared to the real mountains at home, these lumps of rocks are tiny. There's so much open space here, so much so that I actually feel uncomfortable. As I sat in the passenger seat of Ann's car, she laughed at me because I scrunched myself up in a ball and said, "It's just so open." Really, though. I'm digging my little bedroom because it feels safe. Not only is it about five times warmer in here this morning than it is outside (yesterday was surprisingly warm -- Provo was colder), it also has walls and a ceiling and a door.
Safe. Loving this room.
Just for the heck of it, I did a Google search, which led me to agoraphobia: "a condition where the sufferer becomes anxious in environments that are unfamiliar or where he or she perceives that they have little control. Triggers for this anxiety may include wide open spaces, crowds (social anxiety), or traveling (even short distances)" (Wikipedia).
What the heck -- that definition describes me so well it's a wee bit scary. As in, three for three.
Anyway. Idaho is grand. But I'm very glad that I'm not here by myself, and that Ann likes my company. It'll be a good weekend.
Can't wait to go back home.