11-01-2019, 08:38 AM
Home, bitter home
This one is tough to write, oh boy is it hard. I fell like a total douche even thinking about this, but it needs to be said.
I really hate coming to my home right now.
I really should be coming more often. My mom is all alone since my dad died and she needs company, she needs entertainment and conversation. And I'm trying to be here for her.
However I fell so strange in this place. First of all it became so mournful. My mother really has problems with moving on, when won't watch TV or go out. She just sits at home at keeps herself busy with useless tasks. There is little motivation in her to do more than bare minimum. When I come she's happy because she has to do more - she does fancier dinners, keeps things tidier etc. I don't think she's depressed, at least not yet. I think she's just having difficulties to go back to the "normal" life as normal for her was with my father, through the thickest and thinnest.
Secondly I cannot really make myself at home here. After my dad's death we decided with mom to do a total make-over of the flat - long overdue and postponed because of my dad's failing health. However now that it's done I find it hard to accommodate. All furniture is the same, the only things that are changed are floor and lack of my 2009 PC which I decided to throw away. Even still, this feels kind of off. It is my bad, same bad I had a year ago, but still it is not my bed. My bed is back in the city.
It's funny how a couple of years ago I'd feel estranged in the city and whenever I could I would come back to my parents'. Now I feel like in the city is my home and here, it's just... a building.
I just don't know what to do when I'm here. What to focus on, cannot get into the flow. All my musings I share here, there work only in the city. At my mom's I just exist, little more and little less. I let time go bay and wait until I catch a ride back to the city.
I shouldn't feel this way. I should come here as often as possible, I should be with my mother. But my mother grew sad and I cannot find my place in here.
This one is tough to write, oh boy is it hard. I fell like a total douche even thinking about this, but it needs to be said.
I really hate coming to my home right now.
I really should be coming more often. My mom is all alone since my dad died and she needs company, she needs entertainment and conversation. And I'm trying to be here for her.
However I fell so strange in this place. First of all it became so mournful. My mother really has problems with moving on, when won't watch TV or go out. She just sits at home at keeps herself busy with useless tasks. There is little motivation in her to do more than bare minimum. When I come she's happy because she has to do more - she does fancier dinners, keeps things tidier etc. I don't think she's depressed, at least not yet. I think she's just having difficulties to go back to the "normal" life as normal for her was with my father, through the thickest and thinnest.
Secondly I cannot really make myself at home here. After my dad's death we decided with mom to do a total make-over of the flat - long overdue and postponed because of my dad's failing health. However now that it's done I find it hard to accommodate. All furniture is the same, the only things that are changed are floor and lack of my 2009 PC which I decided to throw away. Even still, this feels kind of off. It is my bad, same bad I had a year ago, but still it is not my bed. My bed is back in the city.
It's funny how a couple of years ago I'd feel estranged in the city and whenever I could I would come back to my parents'. Now I feel like in the city is my home and here, it's just... a building.
I just don't know what to do when I'm here. What to focus on, cannot get into the flow. All my musings I share here, there work only in the city. At my mom's I just exist, little more and little less. I let time go bay and wait until I catch a ride back to the city.
I shouldn't feel this way. I should come here as often as possible, I should be with my mother. But my mother grew sad and I cannot find my place in here.
For not by numbers of men, nor by measure of body, but by valor of soul is war to be decided.
~Belisarius, the last Roman
Certitude is for the puzzle-box logicians and girls of white glamour [...]. I am a letter written in uncertainty.
~36 Lessons of Vivec, Sermon 4
~Belisarius, the last Roman
Certitude is for the puzzle-box logicians and girls of white glamour [...]. I am a letter written in uncertainty.
~36 Lessons of Vivec, Sermon 4
