Dear Internet,
I have no home.
I have people who love me; places I can stay temporarily, but I have no place I can call mine when the chips are down. No place I can recoup and regather. No place that is mine and mine alone. No place for for my things.
I am tired of minimizing my stuff to the point where everything I own can be tied to two bags to be checked at airports around the country. I am tired of feeling like I’m on vacation when I’m not. I’m tired of feeling like I’m interrupting other people’s lives with my own messiness.
I am in Louisville, staying with TSTBEH for the remainder of my sojourn and then, on Wednesday, I fly back to Grand Rapids and move into my apartment.
My apartment. Mine. My things. My stuff. My garbage. My shit. My dirty laundry.
I left the east coast early because my heart was breaking. I left the east coast because I did not know when I would see TheBassist again after this trip. I left the east coast because the thought of maintaining a long distance relationship with TheBassist especially when I didn’t know I would see him again ripped at my being. We have plans, he and I, but those plans have to be on hold. I can’t fix me while maintaining a relationship of any kind, specifically a long distance relationship.  With him.
With anyone.
What I need, what I have to have, is to be alone. Live with no man. Be with no man.
I left the east coast because TheBassist is so part of its culture, its mythos, its world that that is his home. Louisville is now where TSTBEH is finding his culture, his mythos, and his world.
I came to Louisville to hope to find some peace, but find I am still an interloper. I still do not belong.
Maybe I do have a deeply rooted self-persecution complex or I am deeply, deeply, entrenched in saudade.

This day in Lisa-Universe in: 2014

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