As I drive around town I yearn to stop by houses I once inhabited and just spend time there. I sometimes drive by my old houses and sit in my car outside just staring at the house remembering my childhood contained within.
Just ring the doorbell, walk in, “don’t mind me I only lived here for 20 years of my life”, and just hug the house from the inside, and say, “I miss you soooo much house”.
I was in Tustin today on an errand, and I yearned to visit my friend’s old house, but his family hasn’t lived there in years. What would I say to the people? “I know you think this is your house, but I lived here longer than you ever will, and the walls of this house have been present for my history”. I wish, once you moved out of a house, it died and self imploded. The thought of strangers in my old houses bugs the shit out of me.
I yearn to visit my old house in Alaska. Perhaps the strongest attachment of all, I have a recurring dream I’m back in my house in Alaska.
It’s funny, I don’t think it’s at all an attachment to the people in my life at the time, but just the actual physical location.
I get VERY ATTACHED VERY EASILY.
When my wife and I went back to the big island of Hawaii to the Mauna Kea Beach Hotel we looked for our wedding spot, a little area carved out of the rocks above the ocean. It was gone; they had rerouted the trail and vegetation had grown over it. I was so sad. I get uneasy when my history changes, when I go back to places and they’re not the same that they were. It creeps me out and I get melancholy. I miss my house in Irvine, and my friend’s house in Tustin. I miss my house in Lake Forest and my house in Laguna Beach. And more than anything I miss my little log cabin in the Alaskan wilderness and our family home on the big island of Hawaii.
If I had the money I’d buy all these places back and kick the a-holes out that live there now. I’d fly between them all frequently.