12 moves in 5 years, from one house to another cannot be normal right? I did not think so either. Prior to these 5 years, I took 3-4 years on an average to move from one place to another and 2-3 houses in 4 years. But 12 abodes in 5 years has left all the old averages in the dust. How so many moves may have taken a toll on my psyche, you may ask. I ask it too.
Only a seasoned, well earning, well meaning psych could give me a sound analysis. But psychiatrists are not affordable just like the business class tickets or an apartment in a high rise building. They can be accessed by the ones who make enough to hire a fleet of psychs who can help them earn more, stay happy and not be bothered by such trifles as counting pennies to seek help.
I could use the cheaper option of doing an outpouring to a close friend but I imagine the friend would be as bewildered as a hare stopped in mid sprint. I may be extrapolating hard here because there might be some who could genuinely address your issues and hand out intelligent sounding advice but who has the time to tell and then who has the time to receive advice, right?
Staring out the window of my new place, I am in awe of the resilience of my never dying spirit which reasons out that change is good for me and helps me go through the moving nightmare every single time. Nothing but a zany spirit would only help me accomplish this feat. I seem to be living in a constant change-of -address mode. No one can keep a track of the zip codes I have used and thrown. Not even the collection agencies who fancy themselves as the blood hounds who can find you anywhere on this planet and extract every single penny you may or may not owe em!
So the existing situation is such as that I absolutely have stopped belonging anywhere. Every time an innocent soul, innocently inquires of me- ' Where are you from?'. I imagine that I am tearing all my graying hair out and screaming at their face with enough vivacity that they could see far down at my lungs if they dared looked inside.
20's are for travel and 30's are for thriving, 40's are for fun and 50's are for frying. I just made that up and according to my made up verse, I should be traveling in the 20's and I am. From one house to another. Is this the travel 'they' speak of? Have I followed the dictum correctly or have colossally failed to understand what traveling means. Judging from my verse making capabilities, it is pretty clear that I would have done the latter.
So for now I will just let out a quiet sigh. And hope that the twilight of my twenties would bring me some wisdom that is much needed and oft requested by my decaying grey matter. And also fun and affection and friendships and food and satisfying work and amazingsex life (whats that?) and love and world peace.
Only a seasoned, well earning, well meaning psych could give me a sound analysis. But psychiatrists are not affordable just like the business class tickets or an apartment in a high rise building. They can be accessed by the ones who make enough to hire a fleet of psychs who can help them earn more, stay happy and not be bothered by such trifles as counting pennies to seek help.
I could use the cheaper option of doing an outpouring to a close friend but I imagine the friend would be as bewildered as a hare stopped in mid sprint. I may be extrapolating hard here because there might be some who could genuinely address your issues and hand out intelligent sounding advice but who has the time to tell and then who has the time to receive advice, right?
Staring out the window of my new place, I am in awe of the resilience of my never dying spirit which reasons out that change is good for me and helps me go through the moving nightmare every single time. Nothing but a zany spirit would only help me accomplish this feat. I seem to be living in a constant change-of -address mode. No one can keep a track of the zip codes I have used and thrown. Not even the collection agencies who fancy themselves as the blood hounds who can find you anywhere on this planet and extract every single penny you may or may not owe em!
So the existing situation is such as that I absolutely have stopped belonging anywhere. Every time an innocent soul, innocently inquires of me- ' Where are you from?'. I imagine that I am tearing all my graying hair out and screaming at their face with enough vivacity that they could see far down at my lungs if they dared looked inside.
20's are for travel and 30's are for thriving, 40's are for fun and 50's are for frying. I just made that up and according to my made up verse, I should be traveling in the 20's and I am. From one house to another. Is this the travel 'they' speak of? Have I followed the dictum correctly or have colossally failed to understand what traveling means. Judging from my verse making capabilities, it is pretty clear that I would have done the latter.
So for now I will just let out a quiet sigh. And hope that the twilight of my twenties would bring me some wisdom that is much needed and oft requested by my decaying grey matter. And also fun and affection and friendships and food and satisfying work and amazing
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