Old Home, New Home, Red Home, Blue Home.

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.

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My childhood home.  I grew up here, It was the first house my parents bought together, and it generally holds the most memories.

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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.

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The dorm.  I spent three years in this place and a lot of shit went down.

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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.

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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.

Medusa