Back in the game...

It's kind of insane how much I relate to the author of this article.

So yeah, I've decided to resurrect my blog. Because I can. Because I feel like it. Because it makes me feel good to write a little bit and to document my life in photographs. Because I'm starting to have an icky feeling about Facebook and I don't want them to "link" me, my interests, my past, present, or future to any advertisements. Because summer is around the corner and that means lots of time spent inside avoiding the sweltering heat and humidity of Baltimore. Because I want to. And there you have it.

Anyway, this article. It made me feel like less of an alien. I remember being a young kid, in the back seat of my parents' car on the drive to school, and just fawning over houses. Big houses, little houses. Cape cods, Colonials, Bungalows. I would think about gardens, windows, kitchens, bedrooms. I would decorate the spaces in my mind. I would think to myself, "When I grow up, I want to live there". I secretly believe all that time spent thinking about which house I would end up in, in Baltimore, is why the trajectory of my life, no matter how hard I fight it, always lands me back in Baltimore. Maybe I've been feeling this way, all slobbery over fate, because I've gotten in watching Lost in the past few months. My typical answer for why we live here, for why we returned here from Nashville, is that Steph loves Hopkins so much. But surely there is a greater reason? Maybe not.

HOME is a very important concept for me. My home represents who I am, what I care most about. I can't understand people who live out of boxes in their houses or apartments for years and years, or people who have no art of their walls. It baffles me when I go to someone's house and the walls are just a stark white. I tend to not get along with people like that. Some people are obsessed with their kids, their career, traveling, their car, their gadgets-- I am obsessed with my home. Most of the money we spend goes towards home goods and art. I could spend days pouring over shelter magazines. I don't care to go out too much. I like spending time with people, but I always feel slightly anxious, slightly off. I go home, put on my pjs, and breathe a sigh of relief. I love my bed, my sheets, my blanket, my pillows. I like to travel on occasion, but if I'm gone for more than a few days, I start to get cranky. I miss my bed, the cats, my stuff-- I miss the comfort of feeling at home.

I think I'm going to buy that book. I've been considering getting a Kindle. I love to read, but libraries and I don't get along (I get possessive of books once I read them), and we don't have space in the house for thousands of books. We've converted all our CDs over to the computer, so maybe the next step is to virtually store all our books as well.