When Did It Happen?

This change of priorities that has come over me, I mean?

I've journaled my entire life, so I can understand the gradual little shifts and assume they must be 'maturity.' But how does one go from wanting land and a house filled with stuff to realising that land and a house filled with stuff is to trade your idea of freedom for that imposed by society?

I do want a home filled with lovely things, to wake up surrounded by nothing but prairie, to make my living from the earth. I've always wanted this. I'll always want this. But it's time to let it go. How foolish I feel, looking back on past entries in this blog. One idiot's tale indeed.

My goal for the time I would spend in this house has been met, only not in the way I envisioned. In finding myself, I have lost myself, too. As I take my first steps into yet another new life, I mourn and rejoice.

In the past, when I'd reach a moment like this, I would wipe the slate clean by starting a new journal. Not this time. I like this blog; it is the clearest and most honest record of my path.

And, so, the journey continues, if not as before, at least as it seems it is meant to.

The joys of living in an older home

The house I live in is at least 100 years old. It creaks and groans mightily. The best part of it is the funky wiring my landlords didn't fix that means that there is no switch downstairs for upstairs. At night, unless you want to come back down to the kitchen to close its light, you have to climb a set over very narrow and steep steps in pitch black darkness until you reach the upstairs light.

Last night, I did that, but didn't bother turning on the light since I was going to bed. I crossed the whole dark upstairs, got to my bedroom, and went to bed without ever turning on a light.

Moments later, I heard a weird noise that I had never heard before. It was a muffled falling sound.

My first thought? "Oh, cripes, I hope it's not the shower rod." As it turns out, it was (must remember not to hang a sopping wet towel from it.

The point of all this being that while I might have ghosts on the brain this week, I don't get creeped out or think GHOST when I hear a bizarre noise in a non-haunted house, so I haven't lost leave of my five other senses. :-)

My sister was actually surprised when I told her I haven't been 'seeing things' in my 'creepy old house' since I got back. Why should I? Just because it's old and has dark corners and my dad has shown up once or twice doesn't make it haunted. Waitaminute. Maybe that last bit does. :-)