I know it doesn't seem that I have a "home" or maybe that home should be the house I live in, but "home" is where I find myself among the men who raised me, at home in the SOUTH COUNTY.
I have done horrible things in my life, and most them to wonderful men. This weekend certainly had that potential, but didn't come up that way. I was worried, but all is well. Still my heart hurts a little, or is at least disconcerted, to know that I am loved by a man, whose love I do not and cannot return. The hardest part is that I wish I could return that love (or that I would? I'm not sure) but I know that no matter the changes in either his life or my own, there will be nothing more than the friendship currently between us. I must clarify: I do not, nor have I ever, been romantically interested in this man, but if his life had been different, or mine for that matter, I can see that I would/could have been. That doesn't mean that I don't hurt for his hurt. That I am not saddened at the could haves, the what ifs. That I do not recognize that I once again am moving away from the institution (the end goal) that I seek, in favor of holding on to myself and the dreams that often seem to big for me. The conversation of where we stand, together and apart, was the best I have ever done at a "DTR" (Define the Relationship). For that I am both proud and humbled. (oxymoron, I know.)
I began at the end of the weekend... so allow me to back up to the beginning...
This weekend also held much of what my heart has needed lately. I spent the entirety of the weekend at my Grandparents' house, helping my brother to ready the basement apartment for his family's imminent move in date. It was hard work; I am still sore. It was fabulous, though. I was expected to and did carry my own weight, but was simultaneously cared for in all the ways that I had been longing for. Peter re-planned which projects he would do when, so that I would remain occupied and entertained. When something was too heavy or too high, there were always arms available handle the situation. When I was tired, we stopped for a break. Oh how I had needed that. Even though the problems that are plaguing my life remain, and even though the things I need taken care of still linger, this weekend, I was cared for. And for that, it was the best vacation I've had in many months. And for that, I am more certain that I could possibly care for my problems myself.
I love that I worked hard and was productive this weekend. I love that, even as heavy as my heart is about it, I know that I am deeply and seriously loved. I love that I am full of my brother's smiles and jokes (as crass and fabulous as they are). I love that the sounds of the weekend were belches, and farts, and country music, and classic rock, and too much talk about raunchy sex. I love that I woke up on Sunday morning to the giggles of my precious nephew. I love that this weekend I went home.
I do not love that when I saw the Seattle skyline, my heart did not jump with relief as it usually does, but sagged with tears because I feel so alone out here. Where did the adventure of the city go? And why do I think moving to a new city will make that go away?