(no subject)
Ok so it’s been a while. I’ve contemplated ditching the whole journal thing, but I guess you never know when the overanalyzing mood will strike. I’ve been back to school for a week now. It’s no secret that I didn’t want to come back. I was comfortable at home. Although I worked a ridiculous amount of time for a company that couldn’t care less that I bust my ass for them, I still enjoyed the routine. I rented Garden State with my mom, who of course fell asleep during it. I liked it, but not as much as I though I would. The beginning was slow, but as the movie progressed it brought up some interesting thoughts. There was one line that really drew my attention. It was the one about reaching a point in your life that your home isn’t really a you’re home anymore, just a place where you keep your stuff until you move on and restart the cycle by creating your own family in a new home. He also said that maybe family is just be a group of people that mutually miss the same imaginary place. This line really intrigued me. I have been thinking a lot about stuff like this lately and I didn’t realize that other people have felt that way before. I’ve been thinking about high school and how people tell you that those are the best years of you life. Until recently I never really agreed with that statement. High school was definitely not the best time of my life. It also wasn’t the worst. There are definitely parts that I look back on and amaze me at how wonderful they were. But there were also parts that make me sick to think about. The thing that I have realized that I miss most about that time in my life was the stability. Every day was different but in the end I always ended up home. This is what I hate about this time in my life. I’ve tried my best to create this false sense of home in my apartment but in reality its just a place where I keep my stuff, eat and sleep. I’ve filled the place with photographs and clutter so that It will feel like a place where I belong but I have no real attachment to it. On the contrary, I have a deep attachment to the place where I grew up. But is that really my home? I spend more time living in my apartment than my “parent’s house” so which one is my home? Thoughts like this have caused me to develop a fear that of never again have the luxury of knowing that at the end of the day I will always end up home. I have this crazy teacher who went off on a tangent the other day about marriage. She said that marriage is wonderful because you always know where you’re going to be at the end of the day. If this is that case, then the movie is right. Someday I will again create a family and a home where we belong. But for now I’m stuck in this age where I don’t really belong anywhere. As soon as I get settled in at home its time to go back to school and as soon as I get settled in at school It’s time to go home. I love routine, I hate change, and this constant instability is making me crazy. Now you know why I say I’m stuck somewhere in the middle of where I am and where I belong.