Should I be surprised to find myself so disenchanted by home? Though in fairness I stopped calling it home somewhere between here and August. Have I finally become one of those people who outgrow or outlive their notions of what their hometown is or offers? Perhaps. Likewise, though, my hometown has been on a course for the last few years of "catching" up to other cities - dead set on acquiring all of the trappings (national brand chains) of "big city" life. When I first set foot on my parents to-be farm, I was in love. So isolated, so quiet. I'm not sure if I was blinded by the crunch of dry summer grasses or the lack of smog in the air, but now I can see their land for what it is - an island. They're now surrounded by home developments and the neon and parking lot ligths from the town's new stuccoed and strip-malled core have started drowning out the stars at night. If you can't see Cassopeia or the Northern Cross from your house, it's not worth spending the rest of your life there (if you live in the Northern Hemisphere, that is).

Visiting Denton the other night lead me in a similar direction. Everything was familiar, but not comfortable. Like an old mitten - it looks the same as it did years ago, but things are so different. I know, I know - what a piss-poor simile. It didn't feel like home anymore. To add insult to injury, there is far too much personal history there to keep me from having a panic attack. I see the square, the corner store, our old apartments, and I relive my last few months there and the trainwreck that was my life.

Again, this entry is scattered. I figure you'll just have to put up with entries as broken as these. I can't seem to get my words in a line - my tongue untied. These are all common themes these days. I hope next time to straignten up and fly right, but until I get home, when I get home, I can't make any promises.