I don't write here nearly enough. I want to, but it seems what I want to do isn't always what I do. I guess that, if I wanted to, I could justify not posting since I only know of one of my friends who reads this. Then again, others might read it without subscribing to it. Even if no one does, I would argue that this is worth writing even if Grace is the only one who reads it. That said, I think it is time to get on with the reason for writing this post and shed a little light on the title of it.
I've been moved out of my parent's house for close to a year and a half at this point. Furthermore, I've been living in a legitimate apartment that I have been paying for myself. I officially have my own life, bills, belongings, and all. And yet, I don't feel like I'm at home. I can remember traveling to the various place I've been in life, and returning home with a feeling that was like, "I'm home." It was relaxing and refreshing. That is a feeling I haven't known for a long time. For that last 6-7 months, I've wanted to be in Crossville while I was in Cookeville, and Cookeville while I was in Crossville. Increasingly, I am feeling more and more like I don't belong in either place. Still, I know that I have a home, I just don't feel it.
It would seem that knowledge and feelings are often different, as I have been coping with their inconsistencies for years now. Even now, given everything I've mentioned above, and the myriad of other things that I have experience in recent years, I still don't feel like I'm an adult. Matter of fact, I haven't felt any different for nearly a decade. I've handled all matter of tough decisions and problems, but before, during, and since each event I've felt the same. However, this doesn't necessarily make me feel bad, as I still don't see an advantage to the stuck up, boring lifestyle that adults appear to have in general. Of course, my viewpoint on life is the subject of another post.
Still, I wish I could feel like I'm at home when I am.
