I've been thinking a lot about the concept of "home" lately. I've had a few. They weren't all typical four bedroom houses though. Nor were all of them places where my family resided, but they were all places of comfort.
I spent the weekend in Burlington from Friday until tomorrow morning, which will be Monday, and truely, this is not my home any longer. Things shift sometimes, and no one can really explain it. It might have finally realized exactly how different things are from when I once called Burlington home.
A year ago, maybe a year and a half ago, I still considered Burlington home. I had more here to hold onto than I do now. I had a boyfriend whom I loved, and friends that I cared about, and a Mother that did my laundry and I never felt alone. Now, the boyfriend is gone, he lives in Ottawa with his new girlfriend, and my friends have dwindled to a certain few who I spend my time on. My mother no longer does my laundry, arguing that I would have to do it myself if I was at my apartment, and somedays, I feel the most alone I ever have.
The alone part - doesnt bother me; the laundry - bothers me.
I mean, I'm fairly lucky. I have a job I love, a precious few best friends whom I love, and who love me, and coffee shops on Bloor where I can go to watch the rich people shop. What else do I need.
Now, I know this is passes for a diatribe, however, I don't write these for them to be read and responded to persay, I write to get things off my chest. Burlington has a funny way of catching me emotionally off guard with the little things that it brings back into my life. If only for a moment.
Sometimes the places we grew up in are no longer our homes, and it is these days of sudden realization that are often the hardest.
