some may fear committed lives

I sure am one of them
without you

I’m up too late. Tomorrow’s not a work day any more, so I don’t have that constraint, at least for a while. School will begin soon enough, and my days there will be more strenuous than work even was. Whatever additional job I decide to take won’t make life any easier either. Strangely enough, it does feel as though something of a weight has been lifted since I finished work on Friday. Perhaps it’s the passing of one responsibility and the knowledge that I can commit my time and thought life wholly to this next stage. I’m not entirely sure.

I’ve been alone for the past few days. My parents, brothers, and extended family are at the beach, and will be through the end of the week. I’ll join them on Wednesday. I know I don’t pass through these times entirely alone, but earlier in the weekend I couldn’t help recalling shadows of the move to Florida three and a half years ago (has it been that long?). I remember driving down there with a full station wagon, totally alone and into a place where I knew no one. This past weekend Hao accompanied me with the first load on Saturday afternoon, and we met Stephen and Truly there for a decent lunch at a hole-in-the-wall hot dog and sandwich place, but afterward… Hao had to leave, and I drove all over town distributing “roommates wanted” flyers to the bulletin boards at every school and hospital I could find on the map. I mowed the large yard alone–inevitable really–then drove back to an empty house in Chapel Hill. It’s given me too much time alone with my thoughts, and I feel the pressure of things I need to express to someone, the backlog of realizations and needed verbal processing–to say nothing of the simple act of interaction, listening–grows too great after only a day or two. But I’ll make it through. Only a couple more trips out there with the truck and all will be moved. And besides, I have friends in Winston-Salem and Greensboro as well, so it’s not as if I’m driving into a place without any connections whatsoever.

I like the house. I think I will take well to domestic life–as much of it as I have, at least. I am looking forward to landscaping and working in the yard. I can see myself enjoying it almost as much as I enjoy tinkering with all things mechanical. Actually decorating and arranging the house, however, doesn’t hold the same kind of appeal. I’m not why it is, but all that’s motivated me when it comes to situating the interior of any place I’ve been is pure functionality. Granted, I do make a bit more of an effort where wall coverings are concerned, paintings and posters and the like, but colors, furniture, all other decoration… I’ve no interest in any of it.

The house is very well-situated. As best I can describe it, the neighborhood does not fall either into the “urban” or the “suburban” category, but could more aptly be described as “mid-urban.” The house is smallish and the yard is relatively large. The place is peaceful and all is well taken care of–all earmarks of a suburban neighborhood. But standing in the front yard, looking up at the oak tree that must be a hundred years old at least, I can hear city noises a few streets over. Scooters buzz by, the occasional horn sounds… And driving not a minute or two away from the house one can reach the stretch of business I40 that is raised over commercial developments, much like the highways in a larger city. I am very happy for the house’s location; I feel I have the best of both worlds. From this vantage point I think I will be loath to give it up in three or four years, if it should come to that. Time will tell.