Where. it's. at....

Tonight I sit in another empty room. I've been living here, but it's not really my space. The boredom evoked by having anything truly interesting besides this computer packed away in preparation to leave again does a slow tango with the inevitable anxiety that comes with the unknown future. I act like such a hard ass as though it's all very flippant and easy. Maybe if I fake it long enough, it will be.

For the past 6 months I have been leaving, arriving, leaving-always leaving. Ticket booked, always a new destination on the horizon. Another plane ride, zip code, country code, time zone, currency, here there here there, this side, that side, which is which? Hello, Goodbye.

If I were to dip my finger into paint and trace the routes on maps it becomes a swirl of colours and shapes, one indistinguishable from the next. If you never stop moving you never have to worry about where you really are. If you’re never going to be somewhere very long, nothing has to be permanent. Without the illusion of permanence, there can be little pain.

Is this sustainable?

I suspect it re-entry hasn’t been that bad because I haven’t really done it. I’ve made this time in the Twin Cities a vacation in the place that is home, an administrative break between adventures, and one I haven’t taken seriously as the cessation of one life to transition back to another. Sometimes it sneaks up on me, but that’s another story altogether.

I will be honest and admit that I haven’t even tried in many ways to readjust. I avoid buying things it seems easier to do without rather than taking on Target. I’ve been using my mother’s hotel shampoos and happily accepted friend’s old make-up and clothes so as to resist having to spend time in an actual store. If it’s not going to fit into a few suitcases I’m not even going to consider owning it. The less possessions I acquire the less space I take up, the less evidence there is that I was there, the less of an asshole I am for leaving again. I’d be lying if I didn’t say it all comes to mind. It all plays in.

I refused to take steps that would put myself in position to make this place any more of a home than it once was. I run from one coffee to lunch to happy hour to dinner to walk around the lake to meeting up as though my social life is my career. I simultaneously perform for the masses whilst feeling a bit like a ghost. A one woman traveling circus. It’s weird but it’s been my choice. A rolling stone gathers no moss.

One can only keep something like this up so long?

So again the bags are packed on the leaving end of a one way ticket. Hello is goodbye, is “come visit” or “I’ll call you”, reality: unknown. Caution has been fed-exed to the wind. Certainty was abandoned as something to strive for or even really expect a long time ago and hoping for the best strikes me as a most solid game plan.

Here I go again.