Subterranean homesick alien

Coming home, is just sort of a holiday. A nice, well filled 6 week holiday. And I have to remind myself of this. That it’s just a holiday, and that I’m coming back. I have to think about it that way, cause I’m not quite ready to get used to the idea of leaving this place. Not even the place, more ‘the life’ (whatever that means) that I’ve carved out for myself/had thrust upon me/undeservedly received.

Today was my last day in work before I come home. I knew that I was just saying ‘have a nice winter’ and that I’d see them all again, but I couldn’t avoid the awful feeling that 6 months from now I will be saying good bye. I don’t like good byes. I don’t like the finality, I don’t like the un-kept promises (‘yes I’ll keep in touch’) which I never keep. I don’t like the loss of whatever may have been. I don’t like the thought of regrets about how I should have loved them.

What perhaps annoys me most is the tension you’re left with. I know, that right now, I want to be at home, in the warm, fuzzy, nostalgic place I call home. I know it doesn’t actually exist (the way I think it) but I want it all the more for that. I also know that a year from now I will be at home (no longer now the warm, fuzzy, nostalgic place I created) and wanting to be where I sit at this moment.

I hate that the grass is always greener. That I break the principle of ‘being happy when you’re happy’. I hate that all the people I know and love don’t all live within walking distance of each other, or at least within a nice sunny drive in the country side.

But even if they did all live so close, I’d still spend my time in a room, with a book and a guitar wondering why I never loved them quite the way I thought I did.

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July 2007
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