Ethnographic Realism

I’m sitting on my bed, in my new house. I’m looking around. It feels so… surreal.

That Christmas ornament, the one I got in a youth group ornament exchange. What’s that doing there? It should be on my pink lamp on my desk. Where did my walk-in closet go?

Then again, my purple blanket is on my bed right where it should be. I have my pillow pet, my high school diploma, my Air Force gnome. Yes, this is really my room. This is really my stuff.

I’m sitting on my bed, in my new house. I’m looking around. It feels like I’m in someone else’s life. What’s that about? It’s my life. I’m here. This is my house.

It doesn’t feel real yet. It’s been 52 days. Why doesn’t it feel real yet? I am almost in denial that this is our house. My house. That I live here. It feels like we just left Ohio yesterday. That we just drove by the little tree yesterday. That I just had my car yesterday. That I just saw everyone yesterday, that I made my routine stop at Circle K just this week.

That’s been over a month ago. Almost two months now. It still doesn’t feel real. I’ve been going to band for three weeks now. I love my Solo Cornet spot. I’ve ridden my bike so many places. I’ve even driven stalled a car a few times.

I’m not sure where I’m going with this. Just another mindless 1 a.m. blog post from yours truly. I’m happy here, sure. It’s just… strange. I wish I could describe the feeling. I tried, and failed.

Oh well, I won’t leave this post like that… Enjoy a song from band that I rather enjoy. It’s not the most complex, but I love it. It’s so Chritmas-y. (Duh. It’s called Christmas Overture).

Alright, guys. Stay strong and be happy, and stuff. 🙂

-E.

 

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