September 14

So the plot thickens vis-a-vis the last post, in which it was revealed that we are pulling up stakes in OK and getting the hell out of Dodge. There's a 'for sale' sign in the front yard and the contents of our house can be found on Ebay at increasingly sad prices.

For awhile I was pretty upset about leaving our house -- I mean, yeah, the dining room flooded when the drains got blocked up and more often than not you could only get out the back door with a screwdriver and a knowledge of locksmithery -- but it was ours, the only thing we ever had together and totally to ourselves. Everywhere else we were living on borrowed time, waiting for the money to run out or relatives to get tired of us or something else that would necessitate a move. But here we could finally chill out and happy times (well, marginally less miserable times, were here again.

But I guess your problems always catch up to you, even if it takes ten years. I sat down and cried for about thirty seconds before I realized it wouldn't do any good -- there's nothing else we can do, and my feeling bad about it won't make it any different. It was always pretty much understood that we would eventually leave OK. When I was looking for grad schools, my mom even suggested that she would move where I was and we could share an apartment. So that was about 10x the pressure on that particular venture, which didn't pan out anyway. The town I won't miss unduly and my remaining friends there are few, if important. I only came home once a year in college anyway to save money, so it's not like it's been my home since then. As things have continued to roll downhill, it's become an increasingly inhospitable environment anyway -- no internet, cable, or phone, and unless our bills are magically mixed up with someone else's, by next month no water or electricity.

I guess the only thing I'll really miss is my house, where I know where everything is and where everything came from. This probably sounds pretty weird; I guess I mean to say my house is the only place where I ever felt like myself. I felt like I belonged there, I didn't have to try and act normal for anyone, and if I needed something, I didn't have to ask anyone. My life since then has been a story of perpetual guesthood, where my existence is transitory, easily displaced, and totally ignorant of where anyone keeps the light bulbs. It's not really your house if you have to ask where everything is and if you can use it, or if your area is routinely altered without your knowledge or consent, is my thinking.

I suppose that's what I'll miss: feeling at home, in my home. Where I'm qualified to conquer the problems that come up (provided they do so within the boundaries of the bus lines) and can take care of myself with minimal invasion into the lives of others. But how long will I have to wait for another place to call home?

I think maybe growing up is a process of steadily weaning yourself off of things you used to think were permanent, or at least stable.