Monday, January 26, 2009
It's hard to explain, not having a home. We are safe of course, all of our belongings tucked into my parent's garage and the three of us in one room. Living out of bags is kind of like being on vacation, that's nothing new. Not having to go back to work, well that one I can sort of comprehend, the reality of it not quite hitting me as hard as it should.
But not going back, that one is hardest. Turning your brain away from what you know and the direction you look when remembering where you are from. The in between of feeling like you are on vacation and waiting for the next chapter to begin. The quiet knowing that you don't know anything at all.
We've made lists. We've packed and repacked. We are trying to control what we can in the face of the futile reminder that we have no idea what we are doing and that extra box of bandaids won't fix it anyways.
I'm not able to get around as much as I'd like right now, access is limited and so is privacy. I am routineless and nervous but overall feeling okay. Somewhere inside of that I know it's bullshit, because I don't really see how I can not be imploding and am fairly sure it's on a timer somewhere, ticking it's way to the surface. I'm keeping watch though, for now I'll keep on keeping watch.