June First.
I decided to go through the office in my house. My parents’ house. Where I have lived since they bought the house, almost 18 years ago. I was letting go of some things, papers, notebooks from school, papers from school. I even neatly stacked all of my books into two huge plastic Tupperware boxes. Okay, three. I have that many books? It’s incredible how emotional it made me feel to see my bookcase in my bedroom empty. It bums me out so much, that I am going to move the bookcase to my and Scott’s house tomorrow so I don’t see it empty in the bedroom I have slept in for 18 years. It’s so funny to me because we are so stoked about the beautiful house we busted our asses to buy, worked on ourselves, with the help of family. I have always had these attachments to home. Wherever it exists. Driving past my Grandparent’s and Dad’s house in Lynbrook brings me to tears every single time. My childhood, summers, good times, bad times, scary times, care free beautiful times, love and safety. Spunky running down the driveway to me, riding my bike, learning how to filet fish that we just caught that morning. The house is like a memorial site that I don’t have permission to visit anymore because someone else owns it. It’s strange. The concept of “home” I do believe it can be a person or a feeling too. I’m all over the place. It seems like some people can just live somewhere for their entire life and leave without a thought, feeling or inclination of one. I can’t. Transitions are always hard for me. I feel like I have been so sensitive since I lost my Dad. (I hate typing that or saying that out loud, “lost my Dad” it’s still surreal 1.5 years later). I’m so excited to put my guitars and Scott’s guitars in our music room, to hang my violins and ukuleles on the wall, to sit on the floor and play music. I can’t wait to organize our mugs and glassware and flop down on our couch. I can’t wait to watch movies and lough as loudly as we want at 2am. I can’t wait to move in. But it still bums me out to think about leaving my house, my parents’ house. I can’t really say my house anymore, because I have a house and it is at a different address than my parents’ house.
