Calling it Home

Whatever it is that has kept me from writing, I am coming out of it. All around me there has been coming and going. With me, too. For a little while, now, I think I will be comfortable sitting in one place getting used to the surroundings.

I've moved twice in the past five months. I have had two or three relationships end, depending on how you look at it, in the past nine. I started a new job six months ago. In September, I fell head over heals for two little girls who belong to a friend of mine. I separated myself from them last week with more difficulty than I had anticipated. I started and stopped therapy. I've been caught up in steady motion and now I'm ready to sit down some.

I think renting a house with my mother and sister will help to achieve this tremendously. Already, I eat out less, spend more nights in--not counting this weekend when I've been knocked down by something of the severe flu variety. Still. Something happened wherein living with my mother again just made an enormous amount of sense. She, my sister and I all had three separate residences in various places around the city with three sets of bills and one day I just couldn't figure out why we were doing that when we could pool our resources and everyone could be a bit less strapped financially. My mother and I have not always gotten along, though, which is what made this decision blog-worthy. We are now in the honeymoon phase. I swear as incidents pop up, I will madly put them here. But for now there are just home-cooked meals, familiar cigarette smoke, and even an occasional packed lunch.

Plus I'm writing again. And the talking in the distant rooms does not even distract. It feels like home in this house.