Homeless

This Spring Break bears the anti-climaticism of New Year’s Eve. Time with my family is misspent—if spent at all. Most friends seem to have flittered away—withered, as opposed to the live flowers I came to enjoy. I find myself explaining my current rite of passage to these now-strangers over cups of coffee. Every time I come back it seems to get worse. I feel like I’ve changed, or maybe it’s this city. Whatever it is, being here disorients me. I want to be happy—pray, eat, smile, laugh, karaoke, dance…I just want to feel at home in my hometown. 

Peppered In

The past two weeks would tell the story of a girl trying to get through the day—and in-between the times he’s calling or texting, she squeezes in the mundane and petty activities she had formerly known as ‘her life’. These include working out, drinking water, not boozing during the week, tanning, school, playing with dog, avoiding annoying roommate, cleaning/thinking about cleaning my room, teaching, working at the curriculum development place, smelling good, and keeping up with friends. These are the things I ‘fill my time up with’ in the between his texts and calls which occur about every two days.

It’s gotten better than it was in the past. I’m maintaining my sense of self. Making him not the whole pie but just a few pieces. Now to reduce the size of his pie in my life, really not to realize that that catalogue of activities is what gives my meaning, value, color and purpose. 

Homesick

I feel ungrateful for failing to see my hometown as heaven but it feels so terrible here. Everyone is unhappy and confused. About directions and themselves. I guess the six little words in the cliché are true: you can never go home again.