Searching for Abstract Notions of "Home" and Realizing that You're Addicted to Wine
Well, since no one is sending me questions any more, it is time for a good, old-fashioned heartfelt post. And it's a good time for one, as I am quickly realizing what a sad sack of strangeness that I am.
I've got no home. At least not now anyway. I came here expecting to feel some sense of kinship with the motherland, to be able to feel like I am part of these mountains for some godawful reason that escapes me now. I don't. I love it here, but I feel estranged and sad, and OH MY GOD MY MOTHER IS DRIVING ME INSANE! I love my family, but seriously, in all honesty, it's probably a good thing that I am moving across the freaking country. I don't know. I just feel different. And unresolved. And all of the other things that you find in a Faulker novel. I am very Sound and the Fury-esque.
So Matt and I are leaving Monday if we can get a loan and driving off to CA so that we can secure a house and get used to the whole thing. Then we're going to fly one way back and help Matt's dad move our stuff out there. So we're going to drive out there again (2 times in a 2-3 week period). My whole life is just one big library shelf, and this time I'm channeling Kerouac.
I don't know. I just feel so blah. I want to go to CA, but I also want to stick around here and see if I can get the mountains to feel like the same things again. It's like I'm married to the damn things, and they've lost interest, but I'm still holding on, for the kids or whatever, trying to make things work. But really, they're just in bed with the secretary, having the time of their life and laughing at my expense. Le sigh.
And I am dying for a nice big pinot noir. And my mother be damned if she'd let me have it. However...she is gone today...
I keep reminding myself that someday I will have a home that I love and that loves me. It sure as hell wasn't Williamsburg, and it sure as hell ain't here. But there are a lot of places left to look, I guess, which is pretty nice if you really think about it. I find it to be a huge shame that we as a culture seem to never look for our homes, rather, we let our lives dictate where we will live. I think if we all spent our time just looking, we might be a bit more conflicted, but happier in the long run.
In totally unrelated news, Britney has cut off her hair and now manages to look like a harried soccer mom having an affair with the gardener. It's bad. Real bad. And they're selling Curious at Wal-Mart now, which makes me, well, curious. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
Yesterday I baked a blueberry cheesecake. It rocked. So there's that.
Do you think I'm having a quarter-life crisis? While I think that's a bit too dramatic for my taste, if you define "crisis" by an unlimited searching for one's place in life, then I've got it going on. Totally.
Well, I should go. I haven't gotten many days away from my mother, so I might as well take full advantage and get drunk off my ass or something. And I think I might write, as being in this funk lends itself to some pretty powerful ideas. Have a good un!
I've got no home. At least not now anyway. I came here expecting to feel some sense of kinship with the motherland, to be able to feel like I am part of these mountains for some godawful reason that escapes me now. I don't. I love it here, but I feel estranged and sad, and OH MY GOD MY MOTHER IS DRIVING ME INSANE! I love my family, but seriously, in all honesty, it's probably a good thing that I am moving across the freaking country. I don't know. I just feel different. And unresolved. And all of the other things that you find in a Faulker novel. I am very Sound and the Fury-esque.
So Matt and I are leaving Monday if we can get a loan and driving off to CA so that we can secure a house and get used to the whole thing. Then we're going to fly one way back and help Matt's dad move our stuff out there. So we're going to drive out there again (2 times in a 2-3 week period). My whole life is just one big library shelf, and this time I'm channeling Kerouac.
I don't know. I just feel so blah. I want to go to CA, but I also want to stick around here and see if I can get the mountains to feel like the same things again. It's like I'm married to the damn things, and they've lost interest, but I'm still holding on, for the kids or whatever, trying to make things work. But really, they're just in bed with the secretary, having the time of their life and laughing at my expense. Le sigh.
And I am dying for a nice big pinot noir. And my mother be damned if she'd let me have it. However...she is gone today...
I keep reminding myself that someday I will have a home that I love and that loves me. It sure as hell wasn't Williamsburg, and it sure as hell ain't here. But there are a lot of places left to look, I guess, which is pretty nice if you really think about it. I find it to be a huge shame that we as a culture seem to never look for our homes, rather, we let our lives dictate where we will live. I think if we all spent our time just looking, we might be a bit more conflicted, but happier in the long run.
In totally unrelated news, Britney has cut off her hair and now manages to look like a harried soccer mom having an affair with the gardener. It's bad. Real bad. And they're selling Curious at Wal-Mart now, which makes me, well, curious. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
Yesterday I baked a blueberry cheesecake. It rocked. So there's that.
Do you think I'm having a quarter-life crisis? While I think that's a bit too dramatic for my taste, if you define "crisis" by an unlimited searching for one's place in life, then I've got it going on. Totally.
Well, I should go. I haven't gotten many days away from my mother, so I might as well take full advantage and get drunk off my ass or something. And I think I might write, as being in this funk lends itself to some pretty powerful ideas. Have a good un!
posted by Southern Belle at 9:22 AM
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