Friday, May 18, 2012

Empty house.

Growing up as an Army brat, moving all over the globe, "home" meant wherever my parents and sister were.  Countless houses, duplexes, apartments... but wherever that feeling was, I was home.

Now, as I look at my empty house here in Georgia, preparing it for future tenants, I can't help but reflect on the four years I spent here.  True, one of those years I was in Iraq... but still.  This was the first place I really ever lived outside of my parents' house or a barracks room.  It's the first place I sort of furnished/decorated (I tried not to get too attached) and the house that I lived in before and after my divorce.

I've always called my parents' house in Indiana 'home', but I called this house my 'home' too.  Even though I hated that it was too big for me and a pain to clean, or that things would need expensive repairs on occasion, or that it was a bit too far from good shopping or restaurants.  It didn't really feel like 'home' to me after I started living there alone... it felt like a temporary space with semi-empty rooms I never even used.  But now, as I prepare to leave it... it's a surreal and semi-sad feeling.  I'm more than excited to move on, but there's just a strange feeling in my stomach, almost a nervousness, as I prepare to turn over the keys.

But then again, that monthly mortgage payment will continue to keep me connected to the place, right?  Sigh...

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