I'm always blogging about places I go and things I do, and I never just write about home. Do you ever have those moments when you look around your home and think, "I took these bare walls and made something nice with them"? I thought that today. The light was nice, so I took some photos. I haven't posted any pictures of my home since I entered that contest on ApartmentTherapy, and everything looks way different now. For instance, both of those plants have died. Well, technically one is still alive but I'm pretty sure it's being eaten by something that I can't see, and has almost no leaves left. I DUNNO, I can't talk about it because it makes me sad that I tried to give them a good home and failed haha.
When I was growing up, my friends used to tell me they loved coming to my house, and none of them could ever explain why, but I understood it. Even now, when I fly back to Franklinville I feel so good in that house. Its bones ache with age and it has all of the problems that you'd expect to find in a house built in the late 1800s and added onto by various people without proper knowledge or care, but it just feels so good.
I've always been a big decorator and everything always has to be just so in my bedroom/apartment or else I feel like everything is wrong. I inherited this from my Mom; I used to love it when I'd come home from school to find that she had rearranged my room and built my barbies a house. Maybe she realized early on that we were alike in that way and that I appreciated her eye for placement and decoration, orrr maybe she just enjoyed that kind of project. Or maybe it was just something to do. After I moved out of my parents' house I struggled to make my living spaces feel like home. This is the first apartment I've ever had that has felt like mine. I don't know how the hell anyone makes a house feel like a home without pets? I could decorate forever, but my apartment would be empty if I didn't have one white kitty dragging a string all around the house and one black kitty that seems to be telling me a neverending story of raspy meows.
A couple days ago a song popped into my head that I haven't heard in years - Harry's Wall by Loudon Wainwright. The album it's on, Therapy, is strangely absent from the internet but I tracked it down to listen all the way through and have been playing a song called Bill Of Goods on repeat all weekend because it reminds me of being a kid and it reminds me of my parents' house. That one, thankfully, is on Spotify on some other album and is really worth a listen. Of all the Wainwrights, Loudon is my favorite.
I had to give up my trip to Europe in August because I can't afford it. I'm gonna keep saving and go in May, but this still means that I don't get to see the play that I've already spent $80 on a theatre membership, $50 on a ticket, and $200 dollars in international phone calls to book a seat for, and I am really fucking bummed about it. It was the whole reason I wanted to go in August. Josh was struggling to afford it too, and we both started encountering all these fateful surprise expenses that I suppose were signs that this trip just wasn't meant to happen this year. 2o14 has been so weird. I keep finding myself in these situations where everything sets itself up like it will be better than it's ever been, and then it just disappears. Sometimes it's my fault and sometimes it's not, but it always wears on my heart just the same.