Friday, May 27, 2016

There's No Place Like Home

I know I've been a slacker lately when it comes to interesting content, and for that, I apologize. I've also been slacking on these prompt things. You're supposed to do one each day, but they're so god damn boring! It's all "describe this" and "describe that." "What's your ideal party?" One where everyone leaves me alone, thank you very much. So basically I'm just skipping through them when I need something to write about, hoping to find one that doesn’t make me want to take a nap. 

That brings us to Day 8, entitled "All Good Things Come to an End?" It asks that I imagine that some place I'm fond of is closing down. And, nosy thing that it is, it wants to know why it's so important and what I'm going to do about it closing. How would I convince someone to go there with me? While I've basically accepted that establishments are going to close and parks are going to get paved over, it did get me thinking.

There's nothing quite so, I don’t know, disheartening, as the impossibility of going home. There's a song called "Acadia" that I've been listening to lately, that's about having all these memories of your childhood home, even though it's gone. It starts with "In the house I grew up in, my room in the basement…" which makes it relatable to me, since I did in fact have a room in the basement. And while the house is still there, my room has been repurposed.

Have you ever been out in the middle of Washington, around Tri-Cities? It's this big, flat, open nothingness. I find it wholly unsettling. Entirely too much sky. The point? To me, this place is what "no home to go back to" feels like. I don't know, maybe it's because there's no shelter, nowhere secure to hide. It's an incredibly vulnerable place, and I don't like it.

Usually when I find myself in this desolate corner of Washington, I've been up since some ungodly hour, and I'm only halfway to wherever I'm going. So there's always this weary sense of wanting to be "not here."

This is how my brain works. I connect things to other things that might not make sense to anyone else. I connect places to feelings. I connect flavors to shapes and colors (wintergreen and root beer are same plateau-like shape, by the way). I think this blog is just an attempt to convey that, somehow.

Over to you, readers. What does home or the lack thereof feel like?


  1. I posted on this comment when it came out and for some reason it is not listed and I do not want you to think that you do not have a huge fan base so I am going to work at this once again. I have friend who would definitely agree with you in regards to much sky her dream was to live in a tiny house and she finally got her dream today and the reason I know she would agree with you is that we shared a ten thousand square foot building and she always picked the smallest darkest corner of the place to hide and be by herself with her little dog so she would not want all of the sky crowding her tiny space just mocking and being big for nothing. I can relate with in regards to relating places to feelings unfortunately sometimes I operate my entire life upon these feelings if something makes me sad or feel upset I run for the hills and until that feeling goes away with that person or thing I pass personal judgement choosing to not be apart of said person or situation maybe I'm a little extreme or am I? I guess it just depends on how I feel lol. Just letting you know your not alone but your ability to share is awesome I can never be bored when someone is willing to share their life and true feelings with people that is very special and I enjoy you sharing your journey so thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  2. I can't go back home. Even if I drove all the way to that house and walked inside, it's not home. Not my home.
    The walls and windows might look familiar, the smell of the wood floors might even be the same, but it's not what it was. Things are different. I'm different. And everyone that lived there, that filled the house with their living, they've all left.
    They've left an empty house.
    If I went back there, would I find that I am empty as well?