My Travels

Finally made it back to the island (Block Island for those who don't know). It was 11 hours of driving (my dad really) through Ohio, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut and Rhode Island (I think those are the only places). It seems strange to come here, and I had plenty of time to think about it on the slow hour long ferry ride. My parents call this place home. I call it their home. I don't see it as my own, and this has been brought up more than once already since I got here. I lived 13 years in New Jersey, 7 years in Kentucky, 2 (college) years in Ohio, and will live a few months out of the year on this island. I don't really feel like anywhere is home right now, and it's a pretty tough thing to have to deal with, at least for me. It's on top of everything else that I've had going on in my life. I'm a man without a home. I'm searching for this sacred place. I look out to the ocean which seems green with envy at this moving mass, towards the clouds of white cotton suspended above me in the distance, and I wonder. If home is where the heart is, and I'm looking for home; then I'm looking to give my heart away. Does that sound right?

Aside from these few quandaries I'm all right. The healing is coming along nicely. Although I'm still ashamed to go out in public. I don't know when I start my job, or if I should also try to get another. I'm eventually going to get a haircut, and hopefully get to spend more time reading and writing (and outside doing physical activities and whatnot). I hope to be leading a normal life soon, but as a pk who knows if that'll even be an option.

Chow,

Nathan