I’m currently sitting in my “old house” or the “little house” OR the f’ing shoe box as it was almost always referred to. Either way you slice it this isn’t my home anymore. I love this little house. All 700 square feet of it. It’s a pocket house, you could slip it right into your shirt pocket. It was a safe haven during one of the most stressful times in my life. It sheltered us when we had no where else to go. Leaving it…is bittersweet. The “new” neighborhood is full of new houses, sorta spit shined and new, boring as hell, efficient, bi-levels (bi-levels..cheap ass houses that don’t cost too much to build..I hate bi-levels) The place reminds me of the poltergeist movie. All those houses slammed up next to each other, glorified track homes…but never the less it’s a nice place. I like it just fine, there is more space…but for the most part I could take it or leave it. I just needed more space than here. So I guess it’s a win.
Here on the street we used to live on the folks are real, the conversations can be taken at face value. I like that. I hate fake people. I hate people who hate you but pretend. Whatever. I suspect that there is a whole lot of fake assness in the other neighborhood. That has me thinking that this move was wrong…even though it was right. Everything right now is black and white for everyone but me. I’m a person that lives in shades of grey. I can be very one way or the other but for the most part I see both sides of the line.
There is a whole lot of disharmony in my “village” people breaking up, families falling apart, I’m heart-broken. I want to stop it all, but there is nothing anyone can do when the decisions have been made to move on. All I can do is pray, pray that I still get to see my niece and nephew, that my brother is okay, who the hell am I kidding he’ll be fine. He’s a rock, I’m the broken glass taped back together, either way for a “fixer” this is hard. I miss my soon to be ex-sister in law, I’m hurt she didn’t even want to talk to me. I guess that is how life is, move on.
We all move on, we all pack up our things, turn the knob one last time and never look back. I get that. I’ve done it. I’ve hurt family, I’ve broke up my own family both because of safety issues and because I was an idiot kid who didn’t know any better…or who did but didn’t care. Either way moving on is always an uneven process…someone is always left holding a bigger piece of the hurt than the other. “When a heart breaks no it don’t break even.”
As I sit here in the little house that provided us with so much more than a place to sleep I see that I too am moving on. Leaving neighbors who are seriously amazing, a yard I poured my heart into and a comfortable feeling for the unknown. I’m scared, and I’m moving on.
Goodbye little house……