Moving sucks

Not having internet is disorienting. I don't know what's going on in Libya. I can't really reply to long emails that require a thoughtful reply. I can't google my list of things to google. AAhhh! Oh, and I can't blog as often. Pooh.

Moving is tough. Leaving a place is hard, and setting up a new place is even harder. As much as I love Bette, living in her place was tough. It was HER place. It wasn't even shared space, it was borrowed space. Her pack ratting drove me nuts, newspapers months old everywhere that she just has to read. The knick knacks everywhere. You'd enter the condo and not know I existed there. Everything was her's, how she wanted it, how she liked it. It didn't aggravate me so much (aside from the newspaper... really, reading months old newspapers?!) as isolated me. My home was borrowed space. And it made me lonely. I couldn't be myself. She hated my trance music.

With my new place I'm trying to avoid that. I'd like to be able to come home one day... an actual home, not a place borrowed from someone else. I don't want a place to be all MINE, since I can't live by myself without wanting to slit my wrists. I want a shared space, a little of mine, a little of the other person. I want a home that two people create... a place reflective of a shared self and being instead of a dwelling upon someone else's things.

And it's hard to say goodbye to pieces of furniture you love but just can't have right now. So most of my stuff is again in storage, here instead of Chicago now. I'll sell most of them soon.

______________________

On other fronts, I've been chatting with a few new boys... The old ones have seemed to have fallen off my grid. It is apparent that another chapter of my life is ending. And another one starting. I must be humble, be patient, and let the ego take a back seat.