holiday

Let’s go away for a while
You and I
To a strange and distant land
Where they speak no word of truth
But we don’t understand anyway
HOL-I-DAY
Far away

So… I decided, against my better judgment to take a trip down memory lane. Actually, a drive…A drive down Mayfield Rd., to be exact. And now, I write this, as I sit here in Phoenix Coffee on Coventry (what used to be a caribou) and look across the way at Bodega (what used to be Utrecht) and think. And get nostalgic. And wonder, who the hell I am today.
While Kathryn and Andrew may not understand this—and there goes most of my principal audience—Coming to Coventry is more of a homecoming than going home is for me. Andrew and Kathryn probably won’t understand this—and so, there goes most of my audience—but Bainbridge was never really my home. Oh, sure, I lived there for 22 years or so (minus several spent in Columbus, of course)…but really, it was just the place that my family was. Part of it is, of course, because I went to Gilmour and not Kentston. I only really had 1 friend who lived in Bainbridge—Mike. And while he is by far my oldest friend, most of our time together was not spent in Bainbridge either. No…that’s one reason why I tell people I’m from Chagrin Falls. I spent much more time there, drinking horrendous amounts of coffee at YT, then I ever did at home.
But really, once I had my own car, I spent all my time out this way. Cleveland Heights. Coventry. Home. I have always felt very comfortable here. Like it is a place I belong. And even returning here for the first time in a very long time—I think Kevin and I ate at Tommy’s sometime earlier this year, but I can’t quite remember right now—I feel good here. Even tho the fucking Greatful Dead is playing on the radio, I feel like this is where I’m from. I can’t explain it.
I’ve said that Columbus feels more like my home now than Cleveland does, but I’m beginning to realize that’s not quite true. I have, in fact, grown to like Columbus for several reasons… 1. I feel like I have a life there. In Cleveland, in Bainbridge, I have no life. I have my family’s life. I hang out around the house, go into chagrin, eat too many cookies, and watch too much tv. But in Columbus, I have my life. I had my apartment. I had my routine. I had my places. Separate from my family. Entirely. In fact, they never came to visit me. Well, maybe once. But far less than they ever visited Kathryn. Of course, she lives way father away, and she rarely comes home any more. But still, it was nice being separate.
But now, being back in Coventry, I feel right here. And its weird that I should feel this way. Because Coventry is barely what it was when I was here. Arabica is gone, replaced with neo-grog shop. The Centrum is gone, for all intents and purposes. The people are too old. And, most importantly, no one I know is here. No Marta. No Sara. No Lowell. No random encounters with Marta’s friends. And me, sitting here with my coffee and my Mac. It’s all different…But I don’t feel awkward… Like I so often do. (Aside: I feel awkward like 90% of the time. I never know what to say, what to do, how to behave, ugh).
Why? Because Coventry is where I had a life. I had my own life. I had my friends. My places. My routine. Not my family. I love them; they’re great. But I don’t want their life. I need my own life.
And this settles this. I need to move. I need to move from my parents’ house. Columbus is a good enough way point, but I need to go further. If I didn’t have all this pesky debt, I’d seriously consider just packing up and going. Any fucking where. I want to go over seas. I want my own life.
This blog has gone on far too long. Anyone who may even ever check this has certainly given up reading by now. But this is my confessional. I realize that no one I know will ever care about this things I have to write. That’s why I don’t tell people a lot of what I’m thinking. I always forget that people don’t really want the long version (Andrew had to speed me up today while I was telling something about a legal case). But I get why people go to therapists: Because they have something to say, and it’s nice to have someone to listen who cares. Even if that care is fake, or at least paid for.