Spent the day doing a little reading and in between prepping my hallway for a repainting. Whee? I also watched a few more eps from my Smallville Season One box set. There are episodes from this season I never watched because during the original run I had no interest. It was only thanks to the WB showing it on Sunday afternoons that I got hooked enough to follow the series into season two. I digress…
So, last load of laundry running and I find myself at the computer after finishing episode 6. As I’m looking at a vague possibility of a job within my company that isn’t tied to an office, the thoughts turned to moving home. And I found myself first looking at various homes in Macon, the closest city of any size to where I grew up but still close enough to be home in around an hour, give or take. And then, I started looking closer and closer to home until I was looking at homes I knew all too well. Houses that even if I had never been inside, I at least knew the name of the family who called it home at some point in the last few decades. And the heart strings just tightened. I could see myself back there any day now.
And then it hit me…. it’s winter… yes, the days are growing longer at last, but it’s still winter. And every winter that I’ve lived here, I’ve had these pangs to move home. True, I’m not married to this city by any stretch, but I also fear making decision that are based on weather-related moodiness. Moving, taking another job, these are all things that will outlast a little bleak weather. And so, assuming I get to speak to the hiring manager next week, now I have another little thing to worry about, whether or not my winter blues are coloring my perception.
And the part that is really freaking hilarious? When I was growing up back home, I pretty much hated it there. Maybe the term is strong, but I often thought of leaving there, of a future somewhere else. I guess that could be the norm of adolescence, of discontent with the status quo. I don’t even now wear rose colored glasses about the place I still refer to when I say “home”- it has its faults. I couldn’t imagine ever choosing to live somewhere else so small. But if I could be said to have roots anywhere, they are there. Maybe I’ll go back to them one day. Maybe not.