How to write my life…
I live inside my head. I live in a safe box with latches and comfort and stuff. I worked hard to build it up and hard to get where I am.
I fly internationally a bit in my life, from time to time. When you sit on a plane, particularly when you have to travel by yourself- when you’re traveling such a long way you get airplane head. A kind of stuffy in-the-ears feeling that has you tearing up behind the eyes and shaking and crazy. You feel desperate and small and sudden because of the time shifts. Particularly if they are very large.
This is probably why my concept of home is so very firm. I need a base. I need safety and a pillow to cuddle around. A truth to latch to. I don’t like to be adrift.
There’s been a lot of a-drifting, for me.
I almost got into a car accident today, which I’m sure doesn’t come as a huge surprise. So I’m sitting in a parking lot with the kind of dead calm you have when there’s been too much and a relative has died.
I feel very close to the way I felt when my mom died.
None of this makes any sense I am sure. Huge life changing personality change-level upheavals rarely do. But I don’t have a homeland now.
No ones really from anywhere I s’pose.
What I do have, I am keeping. Hopefully it will stay gold and fast and beautiful and all true – each homebasething I have come to rely on in its different way.
– Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone