Settlement

Every time I come back from an extended period away, my mother has this obnoxious idea to redo my room.  She rearranges my dresser, puts things in the wrong place or packs up stuff in storage that shouldn’t have been put away.  Last night, I spent an hour looking for my Xbox controller so I could watch my Netflix.  You know, when you come home, you expect to find comfort in the familiarity, to reacquaint yourself with that long-held fellowship with the furniture but not for me.  It’s like I’m not coming home at all.  That comfort that should be there is absent. 

I cried off and on for the three hour trip back home.

I have a pretty embarrassing habit of talking to myself all day every day.  And when I take long car rides by myself, I talk to myself the entire time.  Either that or I sing with so much passion that the lump in my throat starts hurting.  Long car rides are when I do some good thinking and figuring out of things.  Not this time.  With everything swirling in my head, I just stayed silent.  What’s the point of speaking when nothing goes right?  Why continue to plan out loud when all plans do are shatter? 

So, I just wept through three major cities.

I mean, it’s not easy to find a job in a week.  I would have stayed longer but, you know, my sister is a prick-a-dillo.  I’m just going to "hope" that one of the jobs call some time this week, at which time I will travel back to my sister’s place of residence for an interview.  From there, I might or might not stick around to find out if I got the job.  I suppose I’ll just have to take it as it comes.

I’ve realized that this house is not my own anymore.  I don’t like it here.  I hate to say that because I have no reason to be unhappy with my living situation but my folks really make me want to commit parenticide.  As soon as I got home, Mom started in on the nagging.  I know they say that moms do that but she has perfected the art of pestering.  And with the stress and frustration and disappointment of my sister and no luck with the job and realizing I was starting back at square one, I was already fragile and I didn’t need her going on about how dirty my room was or how much money I spent in the city.  I think it’s a combination of me staying here too long and Mom’s ever increasing badgering that makes me want to explode at the sight of her.  I think most young adults can handle their parents as they grow up because they move out and only have to deal with them in small doses.  As for me, it’s a daily struggle not to enjoy a bottle of Tylenol PM.  

And Shannon’s house is obviously no place for me.  So, where do I belong?  Where is home?

I’m afraid home is nowhere.

It’s so weird transitioning from one way of being to another.  Being at my sister’s place for only a week caused me to become accustomed to that way of living.  Coming back home was jarring.  It’ll take a while to get back into a routine of regularly writing and reading again.  I’m already behind on my goal of reading two books a month.  I’m too distracted to get into anything other than my own life.  But isn’t that the beauty of reading, to escape your life for a few pages?  

And speaking of books, I haven’t even hammered through a fraction of my college memoir and I already have several more planned.  I want to compile essays I’ve written from 2004 up until now and put those in a book, as well as write a book about my weight struggles and if I can ever find any resolution to my death, writing a book about my post-college cadaver status might be interesting.  I’d also like to write a book of poetry and an anthology of zombie stories.  At this rate, all of these books will be finished by 2050.  I’m just putting that out there so you can start saving up.  I think that’s a fair enough notice.  Skip the Starbucks and purchase a piece of Brannon.  He keeps you regular, after all. 

He’s way better for you than caffeine.