Nostalgia
I drove through the old neighborhood tonight.
Seeing as how I’m from the North suburbs of Chicago, it seems a little odd to me that I even have an old neighborhood in Houston, but I do. I ran down by the Galleria to take care of some errands, and go to a support group that I’ve been attending for the past three years. Traffic was bad on the way down, so I quickly diverted from 290 to 610 North and ran down Ella to T. C. Jester, past the old apartment, neatly avoiding a bunch of construction and an accident. Then, on the way home, they had several entrance ramps blocked off, so I zipped over to Memorial and again drove through the old neighborhood back to 610 and on to 290 and home. Home.
It felt odd driving alone through the old neighborhood, past Cavatore and Northwest Memorial where I passed my kidney stone, then going home to that empty house. I’m all at odds and ends, trying to find myself again. Lost in a city that’s not mine and not able to return to a city that was, but is so different now that it will never be mine again. I’m like a fly trapped in amber. Stuck. No going forward, yet, and no going back, ever. Just stuck. I find myself on the edge of tears, but not quite able to get over the brink and let them flow. Too much to do for me to get weepy and nostalgic now. And over what? Nothing, really. Just a time that, one day, I hope I will look back on and smile. One day.
