going home

I used to be a writer. I am writing this so I suppose one could say that I am still a writer, but it’s been so infrequent, I feel like I merely borrow the term now.

I always knew when I had something to say; the words, they would just turn on, like a faucet. If I didn’t get them out, it would slowly turn into a drip, drip, drip, with a pressure buildup behind my fingers. Now, the words, they just lurk. They sit on my chest, real heavy like my sweet Miss Dilly kitty at 5 am, waiting for her breakfast. She is persistent, purring loudly,  but I am tired, lulled by the blankets and the comfort of doing nothing … until she bites.

2015 has been a bitch of a year for me. I have been betwixt and between. I’ve moved, again. I’ve changed jobs, again and again. And you would think, this oh-so-clever bisexual would be used to the in between, the flippy floppy, but I am not. The in-laws have now wondered if every time I see them I will be coming at them with big changes: a new job, new place to live, a new new new something or other. I’m delighted to say this holiday I was not.
original-9837-1425899087-34-6604However, Christmas morning I woke up and was overcome by the feeling that I needed to be home. But where is it? Is it a place? Is it where the heart is, because my God, my heart has been broken so many times, its fragments are more like shards of glass from a champagne flute having just slipped through my drunk fingers. Seriously, I am homesick, with no home to return to. I am not grieving, I know what it is to grieve. I am experiencing what the Welch call hireath, but not for Wales, an actual house or past, but for a place I can never return to, because I am not sure I have been there yet. Home.

I am feeling nostalgic, but I think for a place I have been building all my life, but have not yet been.

I am not much into making resolutions. I have always found it much easier to look back than to look ahead. But I think this year that will change. 2016, you will be my year of homecoming.



2 thoughts on “going home

  1. This made my heart hurt. My beloved Sher says the home she is in now is her first real home… she got there when she was 50.

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