People ask me why I like it here so much. Why I like this state that I don’t really have any ties to. But this is it. It’s either here or home, and this is the only place I’ve lived during my adult life. I got married here, I learned how to do taxes here, I learned how to cook pancakes here. I’ve done everything here. After three non-consecutive years I’m finally learning my way around and figuring out where to go. I don’t have anything to compare this place to except for home.
And then people ask me why I’m so averse to being home. I love home so much. Everything is familiar and everything has a past. But that’s the thing–everyone is familiar and everyone has a past. When I’m here, I’m fairly independent. I don’t have everything from home clouding my thoughts. I love home, but it does bad things to me. Being at home is like chain smoking. It’s fun for a while, but sooner or later it’s gonna kill you.
So if I have no real attachment to here, and I seem to have given up my attachments to home, does that make me homeless? Am I just a gypsy, still?