At this moment, I envy him in that.
Which is silly: anyone can be rootless. All it takes is an act of will. I did it once before, when I moved from New York to Emerald City. I left behind everything in that move; some of which was eventually shipped to me, but most of which I never saw again. During the months before I had any of my possessions shipped, the only things I really missed were my CDs and my computer. Everything else, it turns out, is expendable. I have occasional regrets. And every now and then I dig out some of the old comic books, or look at some of the old things, but most of it is just ... stuff. Stuff that takes up space in the back of my closet or behind the bar or inside an armoire.
It doesn't matter.
But it weighs down on me like an anchor, now, in this moment, as I contemplate moving.
I don't want to stay where I am. I don't want to move to a new apartment. And I don't want to buy a house.
That pretty much covers all my options, doesn't it?
I keep bouncing back and forth, to and fro, between all these things I don't want to do.
If I stay where I am, I will be facing this question again, in a month or a year. The odds of the situation improving are very slim indeed.
If I go to a new apartment, I may not be any happier there. I'll still be at the mercy of a landlord who may or may not be any good about fixing whatever goes wrong with the place. I'll still be at the mercy of rising rents. No way of knowing.
If I buy a house, I'll have to pay all the maintenance costs myself. I'll have to worry about yardwork and repairs. And there's no way of knowing how much repairs will cost. I don't even have the option of buying a brand-new house that would likely be cheaper to maintain -- there is no new construction near my job.
Maybe I should make a list of all the pros and cons for each.
Maybe I should just keep complaining about it in my journal.
Maybe I should just make a decision and stop second-guessing myself.
Maybe I should run off to Canada and live with strangess.