With out fail, no matter where I go or who I’m with I get this deep feeling of “shit, this is where I live”. I say this every time I come back from a trip.
When I’m away from home, I don’t miss it. I miss my sisters and wish they came with me but I don’t miss anyone or anything else. If I could take my two sisters with me, I would. I don’t miss my bed or my house. I don’t miss my “friends”. I don’t miss work. I don’t miss any of it, even if I’m gone for weeks, because often when I get back it feels as if no time has pasted. Nothing changes. Everything remains as it was whereas I have changed. I feel like that when I’m home too; nothing changes, nothing happens, dull. The little things I force myself to be excited about quickly disappoint soon as they happen; small visits from people, trips to the store, Wednesday night church, dull. I’ve traveled all over the world, I’ve spent time in numerous cities across America and this one is my least favorite.
I’m young and I like pretty things. I love architecture, style, creativity, art, music, good food and drink, intelligent conversation, ideas, exploration, history, science, nature, and people. I love when all of these things, and more, are thrown together in one city. I love when you walk downtown and all of these things are emanating from the very sidewalk. I love being in these cities. And I hate when I have to leave them. I’m waiting for the day when I don’t have too.
Jazzy Times at 23 