Homesick?

After I finished the previous post, I found myself reading my posts from April and May, those months when I rarely left my apartment. And boy, did that make me apartment-sick. Planning on freaking out Meg when I woke her up, and her responding that I'm so dead to her it's unspeakable. Sitting in the sunlight on Becca's couch. Wee Girlie.

For a while, it felt like I was sitting at my desk in my old room. And the problem is that I'm missing a place that doesn't exist anymore. Someone else lives in the apartment above Schmuckie (and wondering what on earth he's shouting). Someone else is listening to the wind howling in the chimney, and trying to figure out how to fight the draft that comes in through the sliding door (except that the attic man fixed the cold living room problem, by re-attaching our duct work, last April). Someone cooks at that stove where I scratched the glass on the window, but they're not looking at Meg's Three Fishermen poster. I wonder how it's decorated now. I wonder if they noticed the patch where the hammock chair used to hang. They're probably not drinking exotic teas, and probably are even in bed, like respectable people, by now (it is 11:30 there, after all). They probably don't have random visitors ringing their doorbell at this time of night (no Mikey with cinnamon sticks, no Karl with a hulking backpack, no Andru ringing twice and then rushing in with a pressing matter, no Eldon inviting them to come out and "smell the air").

It's weird that I can't go back. Being that my parents have never moved, since before I was born, that's new for me. That whole "You Can't Go Home Again" idea is very sad.