Pieces of a life...

Today I unpacked some more boxes. Books mostly.

It's been a month and a half since we moved and I'm still avoiding the unpacking and general fixing up of this place. Whenever I open a box and see all of my stuff inside, it doesn't feel as if it's mine anymore. It feels like the contents of each box are just pieces of a life I left behind in Ottawa and I'll never get that life back.

It feels like I died before we came here.

I'm not me anymore, I'm just some undead gal living here now, getting through each day by pacing the house, smoking, laying in the bathtub, wasting time on the computer, and letting my dogs outside to shit and piss.

I find it strange that my own stuff doesn't comfort me. It doesn't make this place feel like home but rather, reinforces the fact that this isn't my home. My stuff doesn't belong here. It belongs back in Ottawa in the house where my grandfather once lived...in the house next to the one I grew up in.

Rationally, I know I'm just wallowing. But I just don't seem to care enough about anything to make myself stop.

Note: Originally published April 19, 2006.