There's No Place Like Home (a.k.a. Shake Your Groove Thang)
03/04/2003
6:48 p.m.
I think I want to move. And, before you get any ideas, this isn't some deep-seated wish to shake my groove thang as John Travolta's dance partner in the next "Saturday Night Live" sequel (Although that would be kinda cool). I've grown restless with my apartment. I walk in the door, and, after tripping over Fat Cat Max, I look around and just sigh. I'm not getting the same pleasure as I used to. It's a charming place, it really is. It just doesn't -I don't know- "do it" for me anymore. I need to figure out why. Closet Prick just moved about a week ago, and Fortune Cookie is moving in less than a month. Perhaps that has something to do with it. They both think I'm nuts. You would, too, if you saw my apartment. It's big. Don't ask me square footage 'cause I ain't got a clue. It's just big. It's a 2 bedroom, which is just fine and dandy seein' as how there's just one of me. It allows Fat Cat Max to have his own bedroom, which is also just fine and dandy since he drives me crazy when I'm trying to sleep. It's got one of those huge antique clawfoot bathtubs that I could probably fit a whole synchronized swimming team in. Oh alright. That's an exaggeration. Maybe half the team. It's also a cheap apartment. A cheap apartment downtown. As in it don't cost a lot of moolah, and it's real close to a lot of Tasty Beverage Establishments. When I went looking for an apartment, most 1 bedrooms were more expensive than this. I was extremely lucky to find this place. So what's my problem? It must be some deep, psychological reason. Y'know, come to think of it, I haven't lived in the same place for more than year since moving out of the 'rents to go to school at age 18. Every year I found a different apartment, different roommates, a different address. All until a year-and-a-half ago. My last roommate transferred to a job in another state, and I decided that was it. I had grown tired of packing up or watching someone else pack up. I wanted to find my own place. Somewhere I could call mine. If the dishes were dirty, it was my fault. If the phone got cut off, I was to blame. I wanted to walk around naked and leave the door open while taking a bath. I wanted......a home. So, this is the longest I've lived in one place besides the home that I grew up in. I don't think I realized that I wanted a home, or, if I realized it, my subconscious didn't. My subconscious has gotten so used to me jumping from place to place that it can't get the hang of the idea that this is where I plan to hang my hat for a good long time. That this is where my adult life is going to unfold. Yet another sign that I'm becoming more and more of an adult. *sigh* Perhaps I should just rearrange the furniture?
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� Lysistrata 2003-2004
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