|Dec. 3rd, 2008 @ 07:22 pm (no subject)|
Today I looked up from my book, inside my parents more-or-less perfectly put together house, while Simon and Garfunkel sang about hammers and nails, and my eyes focused on a bowl of potpourri. I couldn't...I can't even express the confusion that that little bowl evoked in me. How did I get here? How did they get here? How do you become the type of person who has...little bowls of scented wood chippings? And dining room tables and credenzas. What the hell is a credenza? Why would you scent it? And is there some class you go to once you reach a certain level of maturity, so that suddenly you know how many pieces of dishware go in a dinner set, and exactly what pieces those should be? How do people figure this out? I'm not complaining or belittling it, I just feel like the type of person I am now is so very, very far away from the type of person who would own a credenza with aromatic thingys on it. Actually, I think what I'm asking is...how do you know how to be a grown-up? And I'm projecting on to the furniture.
When does that transition happen? Slowly when you're not paying attention? One day do you share a dorm room, the next an apartment, then a house with 5 others, 3 others, 1 other? And suddenly you have to decorate that house? I wonder if I was on that road in Davis -- I had my own place, my own car, paid my own bills -- and derailed myself totally. I own nothing. I have 3 pairs of pants, a couple of t-shirts, and a laptop computer somewhere in the mail. I live with my parents. How can I be an adult who owns furniture when I sleep in a room with neon pink walkman wallpaper? (No, I'm not kidding. But dear god I wish I was). What am I doing? What road am I on? I know that a lot of this is readjustment issues, because I can process no scary/bad emotion in a healthy way, but I still feel lost. What happened to those last two years? What did I gain from that? Some days I feel like they didn't even happen. The effects are there, but its as if the cause was a dream, and that scares the living be-jesus out of me.
Last night, I looked out my window and had to fight the urge to yank it open, climb down off the roof and go running barefoot for the nearest airport. Sprinting. The thought of freedom...of owning nothing in a world that owns nothing...was so appealing. I miss packing my life into a backpack and heading for the next adventure. I miss so much being Nomvula and walking to school at sunrise. I miss sitting on my front porch at sunset, drinking a mug of wine and greeting people as they walked home from church. I think I'm grieving for the last two years and don't know how to do it. So I panic about potpourri on the credenza.