I see the date on this post, that it's not published, and click on it. Nothing. Nada. No words, punctuation, nothing. Huh.
So, I back out, and click back into it, thinking maybe the page just didn't load. But... nope. There really was nothing there. Under such an -interesting- heading, no less. Hm. I've had lesser mysteries garner more attention, but there you have it. I'm intrigued.
Per typical fashion, I squirrel out and go do something else, but lo and behold, there it is! In the back of my brain, slowly grinding away, until I have the answer and address the problem. It must be done. Mysteries must be solved!
It's not much of a mystery, sadly. I feel like that heading could be the theme song of my life lately. Like the military's "Hurry up to wait," mine is.. this.
What would I do without Logan? I could never afford this place.. nor would I be able to keep it up on my own. And I think back to how we got here. And I realize that although I could not have done this particular journey without him, I would have been fine... and I would have kept pushing. Because that is what I do. I push and keep pushing and jsut keep on it, until I get what I want. Then... I regret it, or keep pushing.
Holy hell, I was so proud of the CI house; I spoke so lovingly of it, and it's shitty floors and moldy basement and disgusting beginnings and terrible yard. Of it's ghetto vicinity and... all the terrible things that house saw Chris and I do to each other. No worries, house, I still remember the Queen of Thorns, and Willow, and Loki and Thomas, of 4th of July and Christmas parties, of new closets and trim I was so excited about. Of paint that people poo-poo'd and I thought made you so eclectic and lovely. Rainy days lying under the skylight just watching the rain come down. I remember couches scouted and giant clocks bought, of walls taken down (literally) and put back up (figuratively).. I remember love. And hate. But never for you, house.
The first house I ever aspired to own is very well known.. too well known, in fact. I went to daycare in a house across town, owned by an older woman and her husband. I knew their two grown kids, had tried to talk their son into letting me wear his monster slippers when he came home from college. I had slept in Annmarie's room when I was a terrible child who peeled the brand new wallpaper in the nap room. I was apparently part of the reason the house became so well known- the stories of the girl in the closet who "broke me out of naptime".. who my Mom had always thought was an imaginary friend. I still dream of the well under the house, of the secret hidey holes and places very few people every knew of... right up until it became The Conjuring house. I mourn the day that movie was made, because -my- house was forever gone to me. I had told my mom I would own that house since I was 12, probably since the day I realized you couldn't just visit houses you didn't own. I am so sorry, house.. I stopped and saw you the other day, and I miss you still.
But Woodstock? Oh, how I wanted to hate you.. You swampy, bamboo-y, drafty awful old house that kept me awake with cold and ghosts and nightmares of how you would fall down on me in my sleep. But from the day I agreed we should buy you, you just... held me. I spent hours, days, months, picking out the PERFECT piece to put in places. Did I fuck up with that little lamp in the front room? Absolutely. Did I slam it out of the park with the wallpaper? No doubt. Did I marvel over the insanity of your beams? Did I brag about your historic bones? Did I reminisce the taste you'd once enjoyed and promise to help you regain it? To all of them, yes. Do I miss you with every breath in my lungs? Every single one.
Houses are such funny places. "Home is where you make it," "...where family is," blah blah blah. I mean, I agree. But the physical manifestation of a home is a house. And some houses are just... more, than others. My house just came up for sale. Both of them. And I let them both just.. go. And I'm broken about it.
What does this have to do with Chillin and Ragin? Not a clue. I got off topic. Maybe next time.
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