For some reason there are times in my life I look back upon fondly. Truth be told, I've always been generally miserable. But if the Germans can have ostalgie, I too must be entitled to don rose colored glasses as I peer back through time. One such stage was the few years between high school and my going back to college in earnest. It was a time characterized by music festivals and driving across the country aimlessly. I romanticize it to no end.
The past few months have born a few resemblances to that time (though in the end the two periods are utterly different). What's interesting though is that one of my favorite aspects of 03-06 is now one of my least favorite. I distinctly remember one time waking up in a generic sleezy motel room, and having no idea where I was before walking outside to view the scenery, and retracing my drive thus far on a map (even better is that now I actually don't remember exactly where that was! Somewhere in the midwest). Waking up and not knowing where I was gave me a thrill. A new day of endless promise greeted me every morning because it always kind of started with a blank slate. Lack of orientation also heightened the sense of adventure. But now I hate it.
Waking up in a different bed in China was where it began to wear me thin. At the same time it was a refuge. There were just so many damn people in Shanghai. With 19 million Asians swarming outside the worn luxury of the China Eastern Airlines Hotel was at once a fortress and a cocoon. This connection and need afforded me at least mixed feelings and thus the ability to enjoy the novelty of mornings. Some days, before opening my eyes I would try to remember my location. I would recall my most recent memories leading up to that point. If this didn't work I would take a long deep breath and try to remember by the smell of the place. Usually it would work, but there were a few times where I was surprised.
It's really this mini-road trip that's been killer. I wake up to three beds. The one I think I'm in, the one I want to be in and the one I am in. Invariably the latter isn't either the first or the second. It's not exciting, it's not novel, it is only frustrating. The root issue is probably that there is no home base. My bed at "home" is not the one I've been sleeping in for the past two years. Nor is it the bed of my childhood. Nor even likely to be my bed for any significant amount of time! It's a comforting and familiar surrounding, but it's not home. Worse yet, not only is there no home, but no prospect of home. My next move is vastly uncertain and the fabric of my future draperies is just as much in question as the hemisphere in which they will be located. Until that unknown date it seems I must learn to cope with all of this strange and lonely bedding.
(Currently I find myself in Nashville staying with my recently divorced uncle. He has me in my 16 year old cousin's room who is at her mother's. This one is exceedingly odd for me. It's due largely to the fact that I'm kind of a degenerate. Being surrounded by pictures of horses and a large poster of a kitten in a pink high heel shoe... well, I worry that my mere presence somehow sullies the place.)
The past few months have born a few resemblances to that time (though in the end the two periods are utterly different). What's interesting though is that one of my favorite aspects of 03-06 is now one of my least favorite. I distinctly remember one time waking up in a generic sleezy motel room, and having no idea where I was before walking outside to view the scenery, and retracing my drive thus far on a map (even better is that now I actually don't remember exactly where that was! Somewhere in the midwest). Waking up and not knowing where I was gave me a thrill. A new day of endless promise greeted me every morning because it always kind of started with a blank slate. Lack of orientation also heightened the sense of adventure. But now I hate it.
Waking up in a different bed in China was where it began to wear me thin. At the same time it was a refuge. There were just so many damn people in Shanghai. With 19 million Asians swarming outside the worn luxury of the China Eastern Airlines Hotel was at once a fortress and a cocoon. This connection and need afforded me at least mixed feelings and thus the ability to enjoy the novelty of mornings. Some days, before opening my eyes I would try to remember my location. I would recall my most recent memories leading up to that point. If this didn't work I would take a long deep breath and try to remember by the smell of the place. Usually it would work, but there were a few times where I was surprised.
It's really this mini-road trip that's been killer. I wake up to three beds. The one I think I'm in, the one I want to be in and the one I am in. Invariably the latter isn't either the first or the second. It's not exciting, it's not novel, it is only frustrating. The root issue is probably that there is no home base. My bed at "home" is not the one I've been sleeping in for the past two years. Nor is it the bed of my childhood. Nor even likely to be my bed for any significant amount of time! It's a comforting and familiar surrounding, but it's not home. Worse yet, not only is there no home, but no prospect of home. My next move is vastly uncertain and the fabric of my future draperies is just as much in question as the hemisphere in which they will be located. Until that unknown date it seems I must learn to cope with all of this strange and lonely bedding.
(Currently I find myself in Nashville staying with my recently divorced uncle. He has me in my 16 year old cousin's room who is at her mother's. This one is exceedingly odd for me. It's due largely to the fact that I'm kind of a degenerate. Being surrounded by pictures of horses and a large poster of a kitten in a pink high heel shoe... well, I worry that my mere presence somehow sullies the place.)
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