Home has become a person.
And it’s both a comfort — I found home — and a terrifying prospect, because now when he’s not with me, I’m not home.
And I know, I should find home within myself first, and maybe I did, for a while.
(I still am, still feel like home to myself. It’s just… he’s more home than I am right now.)
I’m sitting in my room, after spending three weeks at his, and–this is the room I spent years making mine. I chose the furniture, re-did the arrangements multiple times, cleaned and sorted and changed and edited and made mine–and this… is no longer home for me.
Now it feels like a… distant memory. A place that’s been frozen in time. An old room that’s more museum relic than a living space.
Well. That’s easily fixed. I just have to live in it for a while and it’ll all come back, right?
But I’d rather be there. Even when I’m living like a refugee seeking asylum (and maybe I am), with just six dresses and three pyjamas and a small set of undergarments. With my things on the floor and no real place other than a side of his bed. Moving around from the floor on his study to using a dining chair as a table to sitting at the dining table to sitting on his bedroom floor, my back resting on a cupboard that I maybe shouldn’t be using as a backrest…
I have my own bed here. One bigger than the space I have sleeping beside him. My own room with a table and chair and clothes extending past the metal rods that is the wardrobe. I have shelves of my things and a fan set to my liking and a window that looks out to the sky…
And I’d rather be with him. Almost falling off the bed if I’m not careful when I roll, chilled through the brain sitting spread out on the floor, trying to figure a way that’s comfortable for me to sit and read and type and do anything…
I opened the fridge looking for a snack, and was greeted with a whole bunch of nonsense, including a whole tupperware full of cut pineapple. I’d almost given up on fruit there, until Jarrod pulled out a bag of longans in the grocery store. A small handful of chewy juicy bursting gems was almost a shock to my system, having pretty much forgotten what fruit was like.
Anyway, it is 2:40 am and I’m typing because I went door knocking, and I’m eating peanut butter cookies (after sliced chocolate bread from Paris Baguette) and sleep is laughably far away.
I want apple slices and pear pieces and pineapple chunks and watermelon squares and orange sections and mango slivers and… pomelo sections and… vegetables. The crunch of vegetables and barely-flavoured curry on rice. Steamed egg with mystery meat bits and green leaves. Animal parts coated in unknown sauces that I can munch happily. Bits of fish that I cannot even name.
I want cereal. Crunchy things in cold milk. Yoghurt. (Flavoured, mind.) Small bits of simple ice-cream and aren’t too much on the tongue so I can eat a ton and still feel like it was light.
Grapes.
And then, maybe after, mayybee when I’m all done with fresh food and simple stuff, then maybe a really good cheeseburger. And fries. With a fruit-flavoured soda.
A pasta with cheeeeseee. Tomato is fine. But with cheeeseee.
I wonder what cheese strings/sticks taste like.
I want food that isn’t just meant to fill the stomach, or just looks good to the eyes. I want food that’s good for the body as well. Things that actually make you healthy. (Yes, cheeseburger and fries and soda are included.) Things that make the body better.
I mean…
I guess I can buy just one pot of flavoured yoghurt. There’s small packets of milk I can get for my cereal. But there isn’t an easy fix for fruit. It’s either really expensive (pre-cut and mixed) or too much (whole, from the market).
I can look for vegetable things to eat. Get better-for-body food when ordering in.
My legs, my tummy, my arms are at a stage where I feel a little disturbed. I mean, I love my body. And this isn’t the state I want my body to be. I am carrying too much. I’m still beautiful, so that part is alright. I just don’t want this version that my body currently is.
I don’t feel strong and I don’t feel healthy and I don’t feel good. It doesn’t feel like I can go for a run, or lift, or walk really far. Basically my body doesn’t look like what I think/feel like…
I’d be able to jog for 30 minutes with no problem. Squat my body weight without getting winded. Do 11 push-ups (someone on tiktok said 11, so okay, 11). I wanna do 1 pull-up.
I want to be able to fit into the clothes I bought months ago, and find them comfortable.
I wanna wear something short and not have it be too revealing because I look small in them.
And I wanna sleep at normal hours instead of being up typing things at 3:10 am!!
Unfortunately this is the time my thoughts worries dreams catch up with me, and I’ll read this tomorrow a completely different person, wondering who this racket-maker is. (Hi.)
There is so much I want to do with my body and my environment and with my life. I just wish I didn’t spend so many of the daylight hours sitting on my arse.
Alright, what do I need to learn?
- Make myself home again, learning/remembering how to feel safe and free in my own frame.
- Make my room home again, just by living in here.
- Choose better-for-body food, and buy small portions of things I want.
- Get my body to exercise. It’s fine if I don’t go to the gym, and it’s even better if I do. I want to feel capable in my body.
- Make time for self-care and the basics. Sleep, eat, I also need to give myself a spa day of scrubbing and de-hair-ing and and massaging and moisturising.
- Then also go out and conquer the world.
By that I mean it’s time to figure things out, pay what dues need to be paid, and build myself through building my business. I can have multiple careers. I can have things overlap and overflow. But I am building the same thing. Me.
I seem to have a feeling for the future and the self that I want to be.
I guess that’s better than a limiting box of vision-board-dreams.
So now, edit and post this, and then go sleep.
💖🌧️
Image of herbs and a tiny tincture bottle by Seksak Kerdkanno from Pixabay.
