Thursday, April 16, 2009

Walking On Broken Glass

Home is an interesting concept. Some hold that home is defined as where you went to high school, where you lived while growing up, wherever you hang your hat. I'm not sure it counts as home after I've been bumped for a sewing machine. So here I am, in a place that once was home, but is no longer, having left behind what may well be the best thing that ever happened to me, possibly forever, only to try to unpack my life into a space and a world that doesn't fit anymore. Doesn't fit here. All those things that drove me so crazy, with distance suddenly seem endearing. It really is human nature to want what you can't have. The greener grass and all that. Well, as is usually the case, this grass that seemed so green is exactly the same early-spring, half-dead brown as everywhere else. I don't know what's lying in wait for me over the next couple of months, what kind of traps there'll be to trigger the waterworks. I might even be through the worst. It could well be that the first 24 hours were the hardest. Maybe, maybe not.

So here I am where I hoped to be. Now I just need to make happen what I hoped would happen.

Daydream Believer

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