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Almost a year has gone by since I last took the time to really look at myself. My life has been in a constant state of flux, and I have yet to find solid ground to set my feet. But maybe its time I stopped looking for a place to stand still, and start looking at how how to move forward.

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10 nights ago, while we were all in bed

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I never knew the beauty of having a bed to call my own until the day that I didn’t get to sleep in a bed every night.

I’m sure that is the most cliche thing I could ever say, right in league with “If you love something let it go…” and “you want something more the minute you no longer have it..” and what ever other things you can think of to go along with this little trend. And while I may be very cliche right now, I also must point out that cliches (like stereotypes) are cliches for a reason, because they are so annoyingly true.  So anyways, back to the whole not having a bed thing.

I am technically homeless right now, or as a less dramatic person may say “I am between apartments right now,” or you could even say that I am being a “couch surfer” right now. Basically my lease ran up on my house, and my new lease on my new apartment does not let me move in to my new place for two weeks. And let me tell you, two weeks of living out of a suitcase, crashing on people’s couches kinda sucks. I mean, I have been dreading this whole moving process for a while, and while I have successfully survived through most of the first week, I still say this SUCKS! Its really made me think about the whole concept of “home sweet home.”

Now I have been very lucky and have had some very wonderful friends put me up and give me a place to crash at night and lounge around during the day, but still, its not my “home.” Which kinda completely shoots that saying “home is where the heart is” to crap. Or at least makes me really rethink the phrase. I mean, my physical “heart” was with me, but I guess I didn’t have any emotional ties with the roof over my head, or with any of the stuff there. And while I have loved my friends that I have stayed with, my heart does not belong to them, and actually my heart doesn’t belong to anyone, so does that mean I don’t have a home at all? I mean my parent’s home still feels like “home” in my mind, and since I have no other huge emotional tie with anyone else, does that mean that my only home is my childhood home?

Please don’t expect any answer at the end of this post, because every question I ask is growing into three more questions grow in its place, kinda like the mythical Hydra.

Obviously, or hopefully, “stuff” and material things do not make a “home,” or at least thats what I keep hearing anyways, so this must mean that its the act of giving your heart to someone else that turns a house into a home? What about the people who don’t get married? I have to believe that they feel that they’re houses are “homes.”

So, since this post has suprisingly caused me to become upset about more than simply not having a bed to sleep in every night, I’m gonna head out, but I’ll leave you with this:

At what point does a house turn into a “home”?

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