Grieving Our Losses

It's odd when grieving happens. It bubbles up from things that you thought you had long since processed or recovered from.

I'm a home body. Homebody? I'm wicked attached to the place where I lay my head. It's my center. My place of refuge and place of recharging (yes, I'm a robot - don't tell).

In some vampire folktales, vampires have to carry with them a piece of soil from the land where they were turned or have to stay on that home soil for their entire long lives. Home matters. Their territorial about it, too.

So as I pack more boxes and prepare for my interview on Monday (PLEASE send prayer), I am actually weeping over the lose of home (plural? collective?). From the home that I had before my folks divorced to the various places I lived throughout college and seminary. I miss home.

My junk is spread out in so many places. I have a few things back in Chicago with my former roommate. The majority of my stuff is in my cousin's basement in IL. Some things from college and the old house are in my dad's basement here in TN. Some random bins of this and that and childhood things are in my mom's garage. I had about 15 boxes in my brother's attic until he added them to the collection at dad's last week.

Then I have my suitcases that I've been living out of for two months +.

I'm tired. I miss home. I want that job. I want a home. I want to paint walls. I want ALL of my things in one place. I want to store the suitcases up in a closet and recycle all those cardboard boxes. I want home again.