Give me space so I can breathe.

I usually only post in my LiveJournal, because that way I can restrict who gets to read about my life (have had stalker issues, you know) but I didn’t want to ONLY post about like, Britney Spears… so, here:

My mom has been talking about moving back, with details that make it seem like it could really happen, and that makes me happy. I mean, I’m glad that her leaving relieved the tensions and confict between her and my dad and all… but I need my mom. And sisters. That’s who I grew up with. They’re home to me.

Yes, still struggling with that ever elusive idea of home. With every new place I land, I have no problems finding things I like. It’s just been so long since I could just feel at home and not make the effort, you know? I’m always counting my blessings from car door to front door to remind myself to be grateful.

I want to be able to move from room to room to room and have it be mine, be clean, be comfortable. I don’t want it to smell like other people, and I don’t want remnants of other people’s good nights in my good mornings. I want to feel familiar in my surroundings. I want a porch. Or a balcony. I want all my books on a bookshelf. I don’t want to have to park 3 blocks from my house. I want to know my neighbors. And I want them to be relatively normal.

I’ve noticed that whenever I say I love OC so much, and I hate LA, some people seem to think it’s because I lived in typical all white suburban neightborhood. I didn’t. It was diverse. But the thing is, I never even consciously THOUGHT of it as diverse until way after I left high school. Or really, until I moved to LA and all of a sudden we have to address race issues. We have to “learn to get along” and all that… it’s like, what are you taking about? I was never raised to pay attention to things like that, but now that youre mentioning it ALL the time.. I mean, I couldn’t even tell you — at least not with confidence– the specific nationalities of my best friends in high school. They were just my best friends, who cares? Anyway, I love OC. My OC, anyway. I don’t know, maybe it just takes that long to feel totally at ease somewhere?

I want to feel at home. Hang up my clothes, stay awhile. Even in moving to my new-er place, I’m still split bwtween here and Jeff’s. Neither one is home. I hope it’s not one of those things you can never find if you’re looking for it. Because I can’t stop.

I’ve become a complete space nazi, controlling whatever elements of environment I can. Every time an event occurs and I feel like its beyond my control, I overcompensate by controlling other areas of my life. I’m getting a little OCD about. Becoming a little BreeVanDeCamp about it.

Cleaning disorder is the new eating disorder. Now instead of throwing up, I throw things away. Consume, purge. Control.

Watch out. I’ll organize you. While you sleep.