Torn

Even the most daring explorer/adventurer grows tired and weary of having many makeshift houses, but no home. I, also, am feeling torn over a life spent looking for more, but settling for less. The dreams full of aspiration and having roles to fulfill that only God knows, suddenly are being replaced by a feeling that the memories I have made are the most fulfilling task I'll complete. A quote from one of my favorite movies, Garden State, seems relevant to quote here:

" You know that point in your life when you realize that the house you grew up in isn’t really your home anymore…all of the sudden even though you have some place to put your shit, that idea of home is gone…or maybe it's like this rite of passage…you will never have that feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, for your kids, for the family you start. It’s like a cycle or something. Maybe that’s all family really is: a group of people that miss the same imaginary place."

I want to contradict myself on my feelings about this quote, I want to know/feel/see that my home is still standing, more firm than Elton John's elton john at 1/2 price pizza night at Chuck E. Cheese, but the idea of it all is so much more than I can wrap my mind around, it seems. I guess I forfeited my "home" life the first time I moved, which was to college, 6.5 hours away from home. I couldn't have felt more free. No more sneaking cigs, I was a modern day 18 year old college kid, a "hardass" per sei. No time to reflect on the time I had spent in a loving, caring home since I had been born, I was ready to conquer the world as if it had laid down right before, white flag in hand.

A dorm room had become my home. Cold, dark, and moist as it was, it was where I put myself and my shelf. Things about home no longer interested me, I was on the prowl, from "st. louis", "music business, you?", "o that's cool, never been there?", and " wow, you're music business, too?" Belmont engulfed me. Little did I know that I had drown before my first paddle.

Home. Not on my mind. Thinking of time away, not the time of my next stay. When I did take trips home, I stayed, shooped, slept, and ate at myself. Saying anything more than that occurred when I visited home would be a lie. (and honestly, I now see the reasoning why my parents would want me to stay longer, and that I apologize for, but that's a whole different blog.) Friends were on my mind, not family, or time spending with the 'rents.

Summer came, and passed. Halfway through, I found myself living, what I thought to be, the dream. Moving into my own house in Nashville, with some of my closest friends, with nothing on the agenda but nothing. Literally. (Things are going slow, I'ma speed up a little meow, try to ketchup). I found myslef at the best and the worst I have ever been living in this "utopia" style of life I had made my mind believe. Many things I am not proud of occurred. Many, many things. But stories they now are, and in the past the happened, and nothing I can do now. I'd be lying if I said that that summer/semester living at the Lealand house didn't completely transform and uncover my being. Never before had I seen darker times of the Critter, and never before had I had no place to go with them. I longed for home, but a house wasn't in the picture. Trying times will show you how weak you are, and how unstable a mind can become. Thank god for pretending. I was a mess there, but I'm here, and I will never be the same, and in a sick way, I am so thankful I had to go through those time. I know I am leaving out a huge amount of details, and myabe one day I'll tell them all, but for now, just believe my words, because who lies in a blog that only 4 people read that is written while in between violent/delight surges of shoop.

Badda bing, badda boom, I really messed up. I found myself in jail, 400 miles from home, with an angry baptist on one end of the line, and a halfway there broken hearted/angry/confused/let down child on the other line. My home for the day was next to a man with a white beard (attempted manslaughter), and black guy (probably wrong skin tone at the wrong time). At that point, I had been denied my home. I've never felt that way. Absolutely nowhere to go, no way of contact, parents probably confused as me, not knowing what my next move/sight of outside would be. Luckily, I do have worriful and great friends, and news spread around thorugh the circle that nigga critta got whopped by the fuzz, and finally I had been set out.

Everything happens for reasons that reasoning can't explain. This has been very scatter brained I know, which I don't apologize for, seeing that I literally type as I think on these things. Everything I have written tonight has been jumble about one point, i hope. Don't give the things you hold closest the opportunity to drift away. Home has always been a word that I had, now its a feeling I strive to get back. My family is now thrown across the nation, much like the semen of Axl Rose (so much tailfeather), and for once I see the idea, the idea I never thought could leave, betraying me. Home. It's so simple, but is it a place, or multiple places? Is it people? Things? Or just an idea? I, being overly analytical on many simple subjects, am trying to get this one right. If nothing else in this world, other than my faith, home is one thing I want to always have, and cherish. For now, I guess home is where my family is, no matter where. Home is a shell, a word, an empty promise, if you will. Until you fill it with the ones you love, family or friends, and honestly cherish it. I'm longing to have the feeling of home again. I have no doubt I will find it, but the journey always surprises me with it's detours. That's all for me friends. Think about this. And remember, it's totally ok if you stand up when you wipe.


Love,
Critter