Poets, Lovers and Dreamers

We are all screwed. :)
The world was not created for people like us.
We are cursed with the trying task merely attempting to survive daily life in this world and in place of socially constructed normalcy I am inundated with poetry filling my head, pen in my purse and my book of prose tucked carefully in my suitcase on the other side of the train. I could have searched for it in the dark, but I didn't want to have to explain my aimless stumbling to the conductor.

I have six blogs on six different websites. I have six because I cannot yet commit to seven. However I've noticed a trend in creating new blogs whenever my life is on the cusp of taking a cosmic shift to the left.

Tonight on the train ride home, I heard the Bob Dylan song "My Back Pages" in a Christmas movie.

"I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now. "

Age is a funny thing. As this year comes to a close, I am forced to not only look back upon the last 52 weeks, but how it fits into the "big picture" mosaic that has become my life.

I'd never ridden a train before this weekend. They lend themselves quite a bit to introspective opportunity. A man on the train told the woman across from him that he was going to Bellingham because "It's home. I've been to 28 states, 3 U.S. territories and 4 countries. But not matter where you go in life, you always come back to the place you call home."

I realized, upon counting the numbers in my head, I've never lived anywhere longer than 8 years. Every time I reach that 7 and a half year mark, something happens. Whether this is a self-perpetuating habit as a result of a nomadic childhood or simply Divine Intervention, I have yet to understand.

However, when forced to look at numbers, it ties my hands a bit in trying to determine what exactly I call home. People ask me where I'm from and I have to ask "Right now, where I went to high school, where I spent my childhood or where I was born?" I usually never get more of a response beyond crossed eyes and "uuuuuuummmm...."

Nearly four years ago, I went home to visit Arizona and while at a baseball game, someone asked me where I was from. Playing the safe bet of assuming "most recent residence" I listed Washington as my stomping grounds. My friend, a famed local DJ and hometown hero grabbed me by the shoulders and calmly but very emphatically said "No you're not. You're from here."
His words have never ceased to haunt me.

Yesterday someone called me a "townie" and cited that I was "one of those people who knows everyone in town" and equally, whom everyone else knows as well.

What happens when you are a townie in 6 different cities?
Sometimes I feel as if my fingerprints fade with each new hand I shake.
My whole life, I have both deeply longed and incredibly feared the thought of settling down. Having a place you can unpack all the boxes and not have to worry about investing in curtains that might not fit the windows of you next home.

Tonight is one of those nights I want to fall apart in the shower and just let the hot water wash all my tears and apprehensions down the drain... along with the $84 hairdo I wore to the wedding. it's slightly amusing to say I can literally watch my money go down the drain, but I suppose there could be worse fates. The guy at the salon who charged my card told me I was beautiful in such a way that I didn't suspect he was trying to secure a future appointment. "Townie" feels like such a stark contrast to "beautiful." Such a bleak fate for a townie. Like "Delta Dawn"... always waiting for her prince to arrive. Unrelenting hope that someday she would shed her townie smile and blossom into a beautiful princess.

Poets, lovers and dreamers. We always hope for something more in life. We are probably all idiots.

Perhaps this is my fate... ;)