Two-Two

I always thought that Karen from The Baby-sitters' Little Sisters series was rather irritating, though I still read and reread those books like nobody's business. Of course, now I realize that she is a visually impaired, bossy know-it-all who has a hard time using her "indoor voice," so I can't easily hate a character who is clearly my literary counterpart.

And lately I've been thinking a lot about those books again, though I'm sure the author had no intention of facilitating any profound thoughts for a girl three times the age of her average audience. But in the book, Karen refers to herself as a two-two since she has two different homes as a result of divorce.

Well, feeling like a two-two is about the most apt description I can come up with to explain my current mindset.

My house in Cary is home. You know, with two cats in the yard and life having been hard at some point I can no longer recall. (See: Our House) It's chock-full of memories and delicious food that I didn't have to make. But home is also my teeny-tiny dorm room in Chapel Hill, with one short roommate and the hard work that must be endured by all college students. (Ahem.)

I love coming back to see my family. But somehow, it's like the new, abridged version of my bedroom serves as a palpable reminder that I've outgrown that home. And the old things I used to do still feel old. Outdated. Yet Chapel Hill is too new, my life here too transient to attach myself permanently to the place. Thus, I remain a two-two.

If home is where the heart is, mine must be lying somewhere on I-40, unable to commit to a permanent pumping grounds.