There is a great line from Garden State that says that one day you walk into your house and it is no longer a home, it is just a house. For me, I crossed that threshold a long time ago. Home has not been in Clifton, VA for quite some time, and yet I often find myself coming back. The problem with coming back is that it is not by choice...at all. I don't want to be here and yet, out of necessity, I return every few months for my term and then parade off again, happy only to have survived my stay. Normally I make it through fine and as I drive off listening to music I have decided fits the mood for my personal retrospective I think that it wasn't as bad as I thought. You see, I am pretty darn good about making the best out of most situations, and while I will bitch 'til I am blue in the face about something there is normally a good chance that, overall, I didn't think it was that bad. My problem now is the fact that I have finally realized that the place I long ago decided was not "home" is really, 100% not home. Home is where the heart is, and my heart is just not in Northern Virginia. It's probably not in London, either. God knows where the bastard has run off to, but it bailed on me and at some point soon I am going to have to hunt it down again.
All of that being said, I don't want everyone to think that I think my life is horrible or whatever. It's not. Life in Northern Virginia is riotously simple. Wake up, go to work, take a break, hang out with friends (maybe), go to sleep, rinse, repeat. My life could be summed up on the back of a shampoo bottle, for Christ's sake. My parents and I are getting along swimmingly, which, for anyone that knows about my parents, is a huge shock. I have a few friends who are still home, and that god for them. I have a sweet job. I am probably gonna get another sweet job tomorrow. Everything has fallen into place quite nicely...but this life just feels empty. I work a lot so that time goes by quickly, meaning I get to go back to school "faster." I don't like not doing something every night, but I suppose I can get over that with time. I am still pretty much an alcoholic, but I barely smoke...and that is where I am left tonight.
I really, really, really just feel this intense need, rooted deep in my head and gnawing away at my brain, to smoke. It is the ultimate release from banality. That said, tonight I called a friend and asked if we could smoke and she said of course and that she had to get some. It is 1115 and I still have not smoked...and I just want to, god dammit, so I can go to sleep and feel some semblance of inner peace for like two fucking seconds. (Melodrama...whew) Hopefully the bitch'll call soon so I can just smoke a little bowl before bed and peace the fuck out. I don't want to smoke all the time. That phase in my life is over. Being a stoner was fun but fuck was it expensive and exhausting. Having your life revolve around a substance takes work. I just want a little bit tonight so I can relax because for some reason "high strung" does not seem an appropriate, nay, adequate word these days. I am becoming suburban, filled with my youthful angst and perfectly willing to spread it on to the rest of the world (this blog). Everybody just say a little prayer that I got some bud tonight, because if not "high strung" is going to become a permanent fixture of this blog, when all I really want to do is fucking mellow out and make fun of some people. Is that too much to ask?
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