Homesick, Tired & Almost There.

August 6, 2014

Nothing will make you miss home more than not having one.


To be fair we aren’t actually homeless, we’re just undergoing some last minute details and painting. Most of our things are in storage and we’re camping out with family in their living room.


Not my family. No, because my family still isn’t talking to me. Well two of them aren’t anyway. Which is a blessing and curse. Talk about feeling lonely. I’m living with in-laws and my boyfriend’s at work most of time which means I’m alone. To be fair these in-laws are my friends, but living together does change the dynamics and there is an underbelly of stress on everyone’s plate.


Things aren’t horrible. It's just the transition, the fighting, the change and stress is all. 


I really haven’t had the opportunity to write much and reading is not as easy to get done. Work has been stressful and lord help me I’m not looking forward to the process of unpacking. All excitement at the moment is pretty much gone. I know we’re almost there, but in so many ways we’re not there and it’s a bit frustrating.  


There’s caution tape all over this situation.


I’ve been trying not to bottle things up, trying to do my best to let things be or at least talk about them even if it’s just with the dogs. At least it gets out. I’m not really sure who I can talk to about the way I feel. I don’t feel like there is anyone who is there to listen or anyone who I won’t piss off by complaining to. I don’t want to burden people or involve people in my drama. It’s unnecessary at this point.


My mother and sister are probably going to take a long time before they get over their childhood drama to be happy about anything. Heaven forbid something actually work out. You know, I get why they’re upset, I do. What I don’t understand is that I fought to defend them and they still treat me like shit. Essentially that’s what’s pissing me. I earned my exile because I lost my temper defending them. Granted, it’s my bad for losing my temper. But I lost my temper in the middle of obviously bad day during a move. Anyone who has moved, knows the stress. So fuck it at this point.


I can’t help but feel like when good things happen to other people everyone gets excited. But when they happen to us. They have to be done in secret or in the midst of arguing. It’s like no one has any trust or faith in me to make the right decision.


Once I finish putting the last dish away, there’s a high possibility I’m going to lock myself in my room for a week of some overdue hibernation. But I won’t, because life goes on and I have shit that needs to get going. Being Brave Again needs a marketing plan, and a release plan. Inescapable needs to be written and launched, Not Quite Dating needs to be finished and posted.


My readers are probably antsy if not gone. Hopefully things will work out on the writing front. On the personal front they always work out… eventually. It’s what we do in my family, or shall I say it’s what they do to me. I am always ignored or exiled if I pissed the wrong people off. Which is why I never say anything about how I feel or what’s really happening. I have trust issues. The answer to every problem growing up was either get the fuck out or you don’t exist to me.  


What I can say is that unpacking is going to be the best feeling in the world. That’s when everything becomes real. That’s when home becomes home.


 Right now, I’m just homesick. I miss my things, but we’re almost there.   


Follow me on Twitter @Punkpoet69


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