I think my apartment is sort of finally in order. I bought and installed my last bookcase on Monday and almost all my books and little knickknacks have their place now.

Then I sat down on the light green sofa as my red fairy lights twinkled against the orange wall and realized that shit, I have a home in Knoxville. This so wasn't meant to happen. I was meant to be living frugally on boxes and odds and ends and be ready to leave in an instant. But my very particular taste wouldn't make do, so I had to get things I liked and that fit my modern/clean/dark wood/orange+green style.

I so wanted to be a nomad; have no home or roots in this country. My true home will always be in Z., or maybe where my parents are (in Rolla now). I liked the idea of being able to pick up and go. And I think I can still do that to a certain degree, but I'll want to cart with me my green sofa and self-stained headboard and dining table, and heavy dark wood bookcases, some of my prints and my dark red dinnerware. So we'll see. If and when I decided to spend a couple of years (how I talk so frivolously!) in Europe, I'll have to really protect my prized furniture in my parents' warehouse in Rolla.

But in a way, it was meant to happen, I think. I'm really fond of entertaining at home and having friends and family come stay (the most awesome Dharmisha left Monday and my parents and Shiv will be here next week), so I needed to make sure my home is a little comfortable and accomodating. What a quandry, but a nice one at that.

And I'm lucky to be living where I do. Where I can borrow band aids from one neighbor, a cutting board and spatula from another, play checkers in the dark with another and get along fine with them all. I can almost always pop in for a visit and spend time conversing on all sorts of things.

Damn, this wasn't meant to happen.