I have only lived in one house my entire life, and my father built it. I never appreciated it as a child hence the drawings on the wood walls and the paint on the floorboards in the downstairs bathroom that my poor parents let me paint ugly shades because I could have cared less. But it is truly lovely and I am happy to be back in it. But besides that house which is 511, every apartment or dorm that I lived in except one, started with a five. I didn't even realize the pattern until I moved into my last apartment in Chicago which was nearly perfect. 525 where Medusa also lived was a dorm building that I kind of loved and everyone hated because there were so many rules, but I was not a rule breaker at this point in my life. Then came 59, another dorm but luxurious with my own room. Next on the list, 5035,was my first apartment and it was nearly perfect and I loved it. Then came the 946 and it was tiny, shitty and dark and I hated it and that is how I knew it was not meant to be because it was not a five. Lastly 5535, was nearly perfect minus the asshole who turned on all the faucets when the water was turned off, left them on and flooded the three apartments below her's ruining my stuff. But on a happy note I loved it there but I sadly had to leave because I could not afford it.
I just moved into the house right next door to the house I grew up in. It is the weirdest thing in the entire universe. It is the exact same layout as the house I took my first steps in, got ready for my first days of school in, and just generally became me in. I'll turn a corner and have a weird flashback of my brother running around with his little friends or think about the spot I always played barbies on (It doesn't help that I'm the most nostalgic person on the planet). It really does feel like home but then again, as long as i'm surrounded by the things I love, anywhere can feel like home. Moving also got me thinking about all of the homes I've had.
My childhood home. I grew up here, It was the first house my parents bought together, and it generally holds the most memories.
We moved here my junior year of high school. This house did not feel like a home for a few years but as soon as it did I was in love. My parents sold this house and moved out while I was in college so I have no closure which is why it's always hard to think about this one.
The dorm. I spent three years in this place and a lot of shit went down.
6 W. (photos)
The apartment. Ah, sweet freedom from the dorm. This was a great apartment, but it also had it's quirks. Like, the fact that it was on the 3rd floor which made it very difficult to find the door when intoxicated and that time we didn't have hot water for a week when my roommates mom came to visit and that cockroach that climbed down the pipe in our bathroom when I was peeing causing me to scream bloody murder. The crazy bums and the lack of silence got to me though and almost drove me crazy.
The new/old house. It's pretty much a clean slate, but it feels like home.
I really do, in true cancer form, get attached to the material "home" I love houses and decorating and the fact that a few walls and some wood floors can have such an impact on a persons memories.
Vacuuming, besides being one of those words that I cannot seem to spell correctly ever, is a very therapeutic activity along with serging, beading and handsewing. However I always end up vacuuming in my ders (undergarments) and I suppose I sew and serge in my ders at times but it's not necessary. But I think it has to do with the fact that my body temperature fluctuates constantly, so starting out in my ders keeps me cool from the beginning. Just a tid bit of food for thought. Maybe you get extremely warm while vacuuming and I have just solved your problem or maybe you are ahead of the game and you vacuum in your birthday suit (NAKED!). To each their own.