The halfway point between where you are and where you’re going is insanity. At least, that’s true when it comes to moving. I also learned that the cliche “home is where the heart is” reeks of bovine dumpings. Home is where your stuff is–because my heart is wherever all the cash is. Still trying to find that place, by the way.
My failure to secure a new place to live has resulted in my becoming somewhat of a nomad. Or homeless. However you want to look at it. But I’m not one with a flair for the dramatic, so let’s be clear that I have been sleeping in a bed every night. Come on; no one’s going to leave me out on the streets.
Actually, I recant. I am one with a flair for the dramatic. I feel like my heart is homeless–and not just because I’m back down to one job and strapped for money. Rather, it’s because having a place for all your stuff is really underrated. Maybe not underrated, but taken for granted.
Let’s be clear again though: I am not trying to wax remorseful and whine about how I should have had my ducks in a row sooner. I’m simply capturing the mood of the past few days. Listless, sad, unsure of what to do, feeling helpless, and overall just wanting to eat sweets, fast food, and make tons of money instantly to alleviate half of my problems.
Through all of this I can at least say that I’m going somewhere. And unless I have a shovel, that direction can only be up. I don’t look at my current position as one of pity, or even “hard times”, but an in-between place. It happens. It’s nothing to write home about.
So I’m writing to you instead.