It's funny how being at home changes the feeling and pace of life. Part of it is a conscious or unconscious fighting against slipping into who I was when I actually lived with at home. Who was I? Like an angsty, self-conscious, hot-headed, insecure, hormonally unbalanced, melodramatic teenager? Now I'm just an irritable 30-something-year-old? I spent so much time and energy putting as much distance as I could (emotionally, geographically) between myself and home. Now somehow everything here seems so beautiful and idyllic. Even when cold and foggy.
I have all this work to do, that I haven't even touched. I've fallen into veg-out mode. Help. Sputter.
1 comment:
nice pic of you here.
i totally hear you on the idealization of "home", while distancing yourself from it as much as possible. perhaps the nostalgia keeps it so idyllic. and the concept of childhood and youth (as fucked up as we may have been back then).
Post a Comment