Wednesday, February 18, 2009


I drove down to my mom's house tonight. It was three hours straight on the 95 dodging crappy drivers and Charlie's occasional full body lean onto the gear shift. I was listening to the In The Heights soundtrack. The very last song is dedicated to Usnavi's realization that home is where he's always been, even though he's fought it and hated it for so long. It got me thinking: here I am, on my way home. From my home. And I just moved away from home. Hm.
It's a very confusing thing when you have so many homes, but you don't feel like you have any place to call home at all. I don't like this feeling, and it makes my head wander and wonder. Maybe I'm pursuing the wrong career, maybe I chose the wrong country in Europe to visit, maybe I should be taking a dance class...Having no home causes the seeker of all things in me to come out and dance around maniacally until I'm exhausted and drink wine. And then when I'm drunk I cry because I miss home...


  1. Hey Erin,
    I'm sorry you're having a rough time. You're in my thoughts. Enjoy your time with your mom.