I don’t want to live anywhere. Is that possible? Is it possible to say

I don’t live anywhere.

? Because I want that to be my life. No. Where. I’m not trying to sound dramatic, I genuinely am tired of thinking on where it is I need to be or go or say I go or do or how long I live there or why I do or why I’m leaving. I want to not

have

to take a year lease. I want to freeload on your couches. All of your couches, (well, judging by some of my search strings, some of you would probably give me a dirtnap, 6 feet down) but the rest of you? Sign one mihow up for one couch (or floor, I’m not choosy but I am kidding).

I hate saying goodbye. Most of the time, I use the French Exit (yes it’s a proper noun for me). I hate saying hello, I just want to sit down and talk. I don’t want to be judged for what I say or don’t say or what I’ve done or not done. I won’t judge you, I promise. I want to make money by working around the place, taking on jobs for a time and then moving to the next one. I want everyone to be ok with that. I wish it were possible to have that place you sit, that thing called ‘Home’ and you could leave it for months on end and then return to rest. But there’s this thing called “commitment” and “rent” and “lease” and it traps people in a life of repetition and bitterness and boredom, until one day you wake up and realize

Holy shit, what the hell have I done with all this time?

We judge folks (some of us) for staying in the same small town all their life. I’ve heard folks say

He’s STILL THERE?!

There’s a reason they stayed there. It makes them happy or something. Or maybe they’re just afraid. Who knows. But why judge? Who cares? But what’s safe? Really? What is safe? Two places? Do you have to be there for 5 years before you move? Is it ok if you have moved 50 times? Is that ok? How does that appear?

I’m having internal conflicts… is that obvious. :)

I migrate, I move around a lot. I have no idea why. I wish I could stop it. I wish I could flip on the content switch and just stay put and be satisfied. I stay at a place for a while, I walk that windy, yellow brick road, and eventually I find that the wizard is some boring dude pressing buttons behind some shitty curtain mass produced at Urban Outfitters. For some stupid reason, instead clicking my heels together, I go on walking in search of something better, looking for this happiness people seem to have or want or need.

A constant state of motion. I don’t think this would normally freak me out (aside from that whole goodbye thing which just makes me crazy, crippled sad [ironic, isn’t it?]) but people say

She’s moving again?

and I begin to think.

There is something in me. I’m sure it’s my own problem. I can blame the outside world (the job, the apartment, the people) all I want, but I know (by now) it’s me. It’s my problem. But say, for a second, there were folks who roamed… just kept moving. That’s what they did. They were movers. The opposite of the folks we judge for staying put. Say that were normal… would I be so hard on myself for this feeling of discontentment? Would it even be a problem?

Why can’t I be that person… the one who moves around. Why can’t I change my environment easily and smoothly without judging myself, without comparing myself to everyone else.

Why doesn’t this make more sense? All of it.

What the hell? Today I’m kicking the shit out of myself.

I wish I had the answers some seem to grasp. I wish I could take a calm mind during times like this and copy some of it over to my own. I want answers.

(And I want it to be ok if tomorrow I don’t feel this way at all).

Because I am sure I won’t.