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Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Wrote this months ago...

Fair warning: there is no real point to this particular post other than for me to type out what's going on in my head.

I'm sitting in the bed in the room that is designated as "mine" in my parents' house. My brother is playing Wade Bowen songs on his acoustic guitar in the next room. I'm contemplating studying but, being honest with myself, I know that I would never be able to concentrate on anything having to do with foreign direct investment or the structure of muscle fibers.

I'm struggling too much with the idea that something is missing. It doesn't feel right. This room isn't mine. Sure, the beautiful four poster antique bed is the same, but the bedding has changed. There is a new neutral color on the walls instead of the sunshine yellow that used to help wake me up in the morning. The curtains are much more elegant. There are no photographs or doodles I did while bored during class scattered on the dresser or tacked to the walls. So it isn't mine. I will never have that room back. That's okay, really; I've grown out of it anyway.

But this town isn't mine either. Moore's restaurant has been replaced by a fresher, cleaner, less Mom-and-Pop style grill and bar. The roads curve differently and the speed limit signs are different. The kids running around in their jacked-up trucks or hand-me-down cars aren't the kids I used to know. There's a nostalgia to it. I think to myself, "God, those kids will never be as cool as we were," riding around with their friends in their letter jackets just trying to make a night out of nothing. Yet they're doing the same things, going to the same places, learning the same lessons.

So this isn't home. Okay, I can deal with that. To be honest the only reason I came back to this town is because my family is here.

08/31/12 So I just came back to this post and realized I never finished it. I'm going to post it anyway because I like the body of it.

Interestingly enough my parents moved to a new house in a new neighborhood. Same people, same area, same old places to go, and I have yet to see it. It's funny because my parents call it "our house" yet I always call it "their house." Still, I'm excited to see it, even though that will probably have to wait til Thanksgiving.

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