Moving down here has been, and continues to be, somewhat tough for me.

I like to think I am the self-reliant independent sort, and that I can generally get by in most any situation. For the most part, I still think that, but some types of getting by are more trying than others. I'm doing alright down here, but it's pretty lonely sometimes.

The weekdays are fine because I am so busy that I don't have much time to think about anything else. In addition, a healthy portion of those weekday hours are spent in the company of other people, many of whom are finding themselves in similar situations to me. So far, the people with whom I am talking and spending time are really very cool, but to this point we're not out really partying together and making plans together for the weekends or anything. We haven't exchanged phone numbers or anything, and I guess that could be symbolic of something.

Anyway, the weekends are a little different. I haven't had a spoken conversation today. I think the only words I have even spoken today were "thank you" to the guy at the gym who swiped my card at the entrance desk. The fact that this was a holiday weekend probably exacerbated matters a little bit.

This simply isn't feeling like home yet.

I realized today that I have the perfect acid test to prove if I feel at home somewhere: picture hanging. I came home from the library today fully intended to eliminating the last evidence that I had recently moved by taking the pile of framed art next to the coat closet and finding places to hang it. But when I picked up the first picture and tried to decide where to put it, I slowly started developing this sick to my stomach feeling about the whole thing. I think maybe I see something more or less resembling a state of permanence in hanging pictures, because you're banging a nail or some other hanging device into the wall; you're making an indelible wall on that space. And the truth of the matter is that without a sense of home, it's hard to feel a sense of permanence. (I had this happen once before when I knew something was not right. Incidentally, that was last September. I'm growing to hate this month, and obviously we all know there are more things to think about in September now than my own sorry insecurities.)

All of my pictures are now either in a big bag or under the futon. I don't know if I will hang them or not. I somewhat doubt that I will.

I'll make it here. I'm not really worried about that. I'm not giving myself another option, because this is important and I have to get this right. But how I make it remains an open issue at this point. Part of this questioning comes from the fact that I left a wonderful life to come start this one, and I have done some pretty serious doubting of that decision in the last couple of weeks. Transition is a normal state of affairs, and I don't mind change. In the instant case however, I transitioned hoping that I could maintain some vestiges of that old life and bring them into the new. At present I think I'm feeling a little forgotten, a little ignored and just a little bit sad as I come to the realization that this is just the way of things and I perhaps am holding on a little too tightly to something that might not have ever even been there in the first place.

I feel like a freshman in high school sitting and spinning of lines in his spiral notebook that he keeps in a dresser drawer and zealously protects against discovery. I was one of those kids. I kept a really awful journal. But this blog has become the most self-indulgent of items, allowing me to be a story teller and a jester, and now it starts serving as a sounding board. I don't think I can keep this one private, and maybe I don't want to. Maybe this is a cry for sympathy or something, which would explain why I am posting this in my blog rather than sitting in the dark, staring at the ceiling, and wondering when this will get better and I'll start thinking of myself as a happy person again.

But things resume some normalcy tomorrow, so maybe I will be okay until next weekend. I hope I can avoid any more "feeling sorry for myself" posts between now and then. In the meantime, I think I will go read for a while and try and let the realization that the rutinary life begins again tomorrow slowly rock me to sleep.

Hope you all enjoyed the holiday. All in all, it wasn't that bad.