I think it was about this time two years ago when I went to spend some time with my grandmother during a little vacation/memorial service my father was attending. My intention was to spend a week with her, helping out and then another week once my father returned. In the end, I think it was about 18 days. Tomorrow night will be three weeks I've been here. Sadly, I don't have much going on this summer. No work lined up, which needs to change, as I'm still holding on to one last paycheck, trying to milk it for everything it's worth. Sure I could become a hermit and make it last three months, but what kind of life is that? Hoping for a bit of a miracle, but I'll take some luck instead, being I don't believe in those.
Today was the first day I really reflected on this time. I thought about where I call home. Home is the place you are supposed to feel free. Calm. Secure. Home is where the heart is, is it not? Yet, my heart is anywhere but where I call home. My heart is here in Ithaca, sitting on a porch, darkness engulfing me, the soothing raindrops melodically entertaining me, knowing tomorrow will be coffee and bagels and light chatter before a day of leisure. My heart is in Brooklyn, with its vibrant sounds and colors. It's various cuisines and the hustle and bustle of a city, not as serious as Manhattan. Memories of car alarms and cooling off in an illegally opened hydrant. My heart is in Wolfeboro, New Hampshire, the sounds of children whispering about their days,divulging secrets they believe only they can hear. The sounds of the city, so far away.
My heart is with people in my life and out. Memories of times spent around a fire, on a stoop, holding hands or clanking glasses while stars looked down upon us and we gazed back, relaxed, intoxicated by a powerful elixir known as friendship, sometimes love. I left three weeks ago following time with friends in Boston. A different time, feeling, experience this time. Fun, but different. Age changing my perspective, my needs. I expected to miss people by now. I expected to be missed. I'm don't and I'm not. It's OK.
I've thought about it. My connections to this place. A 25th reunion from a high school I despised, surrounded by creatures no more evolved than they were in '88. I too haven't evolved like I wanted. I'm trapped or at least it appears. Same faces and similar thoughts. Wrinkles show on their faces, but the wisdom from time hasn't kept up. It makes me look into that proverbial mirror and I see it's shattered pieces. Seven more years? How much longer can I take. I have thoughts of three people. That is it. One the wise sage, the eyes, the ears, the shoulder at times. The other, youthful exuberance, reminding me of me, had I strove and cared a little less what people thought. Finally there are the ones who would never expect it. The ones who keep me sane for little reasons. The tiny conversations, at times about nothing. It's important to speak about nothing, if that is what is important at that moment.
The rain is beginning to cease. That sound suddenly lost by the rare hum of a car engine. Taking me back to where I call home. The noise, the clutter, the cramped confined space. My home/my cell. Imprisoned by monotony and stagnation. Soon the birds will begin to chirp, awakening me, then mocking me. Reminding me that I can't fly away with them, as they soar to places I'll never know.
Today was the first day I really reflected on this time. I thought about where I call home. Home is the place you are supposed to feel free. Calm. Secure. Home is where the heart is, is it not? Yet, my heart is anywhere but where I call home. My heart is here in Ithaca, sitting on a porch, darkness engulfing me, the soothing raindrops melodically entertaining me, knowing tomorrow will be coffee and bagels and light chatter before a day of leisure. My heart is in Brooklyn, with its vibrant sounds and colors. It's various cuisines and the hustle and bustle of a city, not as serious as Manhattan. Memories of car alarms and cooling off in an illegally opened hydrant. My heart is in Wolfeboro, New Hampshire, the sounds of children whispering about their days,divulging secrets they believe only they can hear. The sounds of the city, so far away.
My heart is with people in my life and out. Memories of times spent around a fire, on a stoop, holding hands or clanking glasses while stars looked down upon us and we gazed back, relaxed, intoxicated by a powerful elixir known as friendship, sometimes love. I left three weeks ago following time with friends in Boston. A different time, feeling, experience this time. Fun, but different. Age changing my perspective, my needs. I expected to miss people by now. I expected to be missed. I'm don't and I'm not. It's OK.
I've thought about it. My connections to this place. A 25th reunion from a high school I despised, surrounded by creatures no more evolved than they were in '88. I too haven't evolved like I wanted. I'm trapped or at least it appears. Same faces and similar thoughts. Wrinkles show on their faces, but the wisdom from time hasn't kept up. It makes me look into that proverbial mirror and I see it's shattered pieces. Seven more years? How much longer can I take. I have thoughts of three people. That is it. One the wise sage, the eyes, the ears, the shoulder at times. The other, youthful exuberance, reminding me of me, had I strove and cared a little less what people thought. Finally there are the ones who would never expect it. The ones who keep me sane for little reasons. The tiny conversations, at times about nothing. It's important to speak about nothing, if that is what is important at that moment.
The rain is beginning to cease. That sound suddenly lost by the rare hum of a car engine. Taking me back to where I call home. The noise, the clutter, the cramped confined space. My home/my cell. Imprisoned by monotony and stagnation. Soon the birds will begin to chirp, awakening me, then mocking me. Reminding me that I can't fly away with them, as they soar to places I'll never know.
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