This week The Lady of Shalott finally got hung up on my wall. What? I’ve only been living in St. John’s for over a year, we’re still trying to get organized.
As she sits there quietly above my desk, I realize it’s the first thing I’ve hung on my bedroom walls. To hang something up means permanence. A plan to stay. My own Mom never hung a single picture or painting up in the whole house until my brother came home for a visit in July and was like WTF where are my baby photos?
I came home from the North in August to a house laden with graduation photos, Sarah/Darryl montages and pretty much any piece of artwork my brother or I ever did that was framed. We get it, Mom. You love us.
I don’t plan on ever living in St. John’s permanently. Well, unless I get some ridiculously awesome job which doesn’t happen EVER (read: Axel Meisen moves to Alberta for a better job, THE IRONY IS NOT LOST ON ME, FRIENDS).
But, it occurred to me that I treat my new home as a hotel. A lot of my stuff is still in giant Rubbermaid containers from the move a year+ ago. It’s sad.
Unfortunately I don’t have the gumption to change it. I don’t want this to be my home. I don’t like anything about this home or this city. Man, how I loathe this city!
What to do, what to do. . .
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