If a home really isn't much of a home, should the name be different? Since I'm back and kicking around here some, maybe I should think of something new to reflect all that's happened. Yeah...I'll chew on that a while.
So much is so very strange these days. I live mostly alone now and once again. It's horribly lonely here in what has finally become my house (but that's another story). I have some time again but time is usually a bad thing because I tend to think too much when I have it. Seems like it's better when I'm too busy to think. Just do and do until the day is gone.
Out of coffee. Get up from laptop and get coffee.
I'm reminded of other days when I lived in an itty-bitty tiny little one room house that was made from an old chicken coop. I eventually shared it but for the first couple years, I was alone there. I wrote a lot in a spiral notebook on those long nights by myself. I read that once in a while just to see how little everything changed.
I wrote that I was surrounded by people yet lonely. I was admired but hated at the same time. Living what I've come to call the 'Facebook life' while being miserable. It all looks great on the outside but when the door closes on the world, everything crashes down. Some things never change, you just get older.
So I think I'll write some more even though the old red notebook now lives in my dresser drawer. I may write here or I may write in green felt-tip in a black book that I acquired along the way (and that's really another story).
Some stuff may or may not ever make it into an electronic version until I'm no longer at risk from my employer. We'll see.
And I'll think of maybe a change in the name to the Wayward Home. I'm still awfully wayward but home doesn't mean so much anymore.