Home.

Home.

Cliches annoy me. They roll too easy off the tongue and involve little thought. But they exist because they are mostly true.

They say that:

Home is where the heart is.

It’s like a stupid sign I would hang in the living room as a decoration. I had certainly bought into that idea without putting thought into. Like, yes my address where I live is also where my family lives.  And until the divorce the idea of “Home” was simply a structure with walls and roof. A home was a thing you paint and fill. Something you pay for and something you can sell. Continue reading “Home.”

The House. His House. Our House?

The House. His House. Our House?

I went to the house to help label things to keep and things to junk. The floors need a good cleaning and the walls need a fresh coat of paint but otherwise its a nice simple home.

There was a few times I felt so rigid, stiff and uncomfortable I wanted to crawl out of my body and run away. But I didn’t. Life is hard. Things are hard. Running solves nothing.

But this house isn’t about me. It’s his victory. And I will let him have it. He’s a homeowner and he has a place that is HIS. To do what he wants with it.That’s awesome. I had my turn years ago with that. (And now it’s gone.) Continue reading “The House. His House. Our House?”