I came home last night to an unfamiliar house. One in which I have never felt uncomfortable, though never at home either. And I don't know that I want to. I'm an adult. I might not be as financially secure, or mature as I could be, but I know that I will never be a child again. I have crossed the invisible line between childhood to adolescence, and adolescence to adulthood.
I am listening to an audio book. I never have done that before. I don't consider myself particularly audio-inclined, neither visually, neither kinesthetically. But I love the experience--being able to listen to the story, rather than process it visually. To create the images from the voice, and mock the voice, tell it that they are saying it wrong, making the picture wrong with her voice. I think I could do something like that. Record audio books. When I answered the phone at my job in high school for a big-box retailer, I was often told that I had the perfect phone operators voice, a particular kind of phone operators voice. I think I have lost some of that since I don't speak much except out of necessity anymore. I don't write, and I don't read my writing out loud for anyone to hear. And so the part of me that was creative, is creative, is silenced. In the current state of silence. Not making sound.
I think I need to move to the city. And not necessarily a big city...for now. But downtown. At least downtown. Where I can be stimulated out side myself. Outside my own imagination. Outside my own thoughts and theories. I think it would be good to get outside myself. And to get outside.
Instead, I am stranded. Left to live, if you could consider it that, in suburbia, farmland wasted, with rich and poor living in squander side by side.