That's a thought that's been darting in and out of my consciousness going on at least five or six years now.
Even when I'm home.
I first noticed it after we moved to Denver. Understandable, since I'd just uprooted my entire world and was feeling very unmoored. But even three and a half years after returning to Phoenix it still hasn't gone away. By all accounts this little brick house we've occupied for the last three and a half years is home, and the thought of having to move out in a little over a month's time if I don't find work is profoundly distressing, but still I find myself sitting at my desk, or watching television, or doing the laundry and out of nowhere that thought will pop up, often accompanied by a profound sadness at the direction the world and my life has taken lately.
But if you ask me to describe the "home" I want to go home to, I'm at a loss for words. If anything, I don't think it's a place per se, but rather simply a sense of security and…settledness that has been conspicuously absent since we initially left Phoenix. Compound that with the feeling the entire world has become a powder keg that's just waiting for someone to light a match and well…you get an idea.