That isn’t a clever title for another bit of prose, it’s simply fitting.  Ever since I was little, I’ve been a rather nomadic individual.  This was largely in part because of my mother’s job situation shifting every couple of years and us following it.  Now don’t misinterpret me here, I’m not complaining about this in the slightest.  Hell, I’ve rather enjoyed it for the most part.  Living in such a way has reprogrammed me in some way though.  As such, I’m finding it increasingly difficult to stay tied down here in Tennessee.  It seems as though the longer I sit here, the more imperative moving appears to become.  I’ve only been here since January of 2009, but it already feels like I’ve overstayed my welcome here and that my time is done—making it officially time to move on.  I don’t really have a problem with that urge (minus the facts that I couldn’t even remotely afford a statewide move and I would genuinely miss a number of people here), but it is a little frustrating that it seems to appear every three years or so.  Typically I just give into the urge to pack up and leave, be it mentally or physically, yet I just can’t bring myself to do it with Tennessee.  It’s a strange sense to be in, and I can’t really say that I like it very much.  Who knows, maybe I’m hoping that, by waiting a bit to move on, I’ll find a reason to stay beyond my current scope of vision.  Or maybe I’m incurably stubborn and refuse to listen to my own desires.

-Rj

“I kept my whole life in a suitcase—never really stayed in one place.  Maybe that’s the way it should be: you know I lived my life like a gypsy.” -Call Me, Shinedown