Burn out.

So today, I sat at another store meeting for the company I have worked with over the past year (anniversary date being Sept. 14th) and I felt an overwhelming sense of, "here we go again." I have switched three stores, moved three times, and met countless of people in this time. As noted from my previous entries, this has not been the first of my moves, so today as I went in to another "Meet your new friends" sessions, I just had a sense of "I'm tired of this," piggy-backed on the thought of, "Who is that kid, I recognize his face, but where?" As my brain paged through the countless names and faces over the past six years, narrowing it down to high school, but unable to go further. (Yes, I did re-meet someone from high school).

So I'm sick of moving. This is no shocker. I probably complain about this every time I move. However, I'm feeling it in a deep seated way. I want to set roots down. I want to know that I will be in an area for more than six months. I want to know there is a point to making friends with these 300 new faces I am meeting. I'm burnt out on moving.

Which brings me to a new insight. Perhaps moving has taken the same look and feel as some of my other mild addictive habits. For instance, freshmen year of college, I ate Pop Tarts daily. Promptly following this year, I couldn't stand Pop Tarts, and switched to Cinnamon Toast Crunch instant Cereal Bars my sophomore year. Done. Burnt out. Kroger granola bars (lasted two years) at which I consumed approximately 84 a month. I can no longer eat Kroger granola bars without feeling slightly grossed out. Freshmen year of grad school, Subway Turkey Subs. You will no longer hear me order turkey subs at Subway. Burnt out. These were all foods. I am, and have always been, thankfully, blessed with a high metabolism, so no, these addictions did not create any harrowing damage like that guy in Super Size Me. Regardless, I haven't been addicted to a food in a while. I have nothing that I consume religiously. No favorite breakfast item (by the way, I now really don't like breakfast at all any more), no favorite portable snack, nothing.

Airplane rides had a similar death. I use to get excited for plane rides, then for a whole year and a bit more, I flew every month half way across the country. I now despise having to fly in a plane. I drag my feet, I postpone booking flights. I would rather drive 16 hours than fly. Needless to say, my friend in Oregon, and the two in California, don't see much of me.

Maybe moving is the same way. I'm getting sick of it. The pure thought is disgusting. I'm beginning to think I never want to do it again. My sense of adventure, my need to declare my freedom of roots, my pride at packing and being on the road has dwindled. I want to settle down. I want roots. Trouble is, I've been at it so long, to set roots seems like squeezing in a sweater that's too small. Or like asking me to do fractions again. I can't remember how. I don't remember where to begin.

All that being noted, I'm also wondering what it feels like to know you're home. What is home? Where do I belong? Ah, the key word, belonging. I unpacked my room and in doing so came across two paintings, one done in the summer of 2007 with me clutching a pile of my things, words of my friend's behind me, a line running haphazardly around the background, indicative of a line on a treasure map. Postage stamps and markings collaged on top. I felt displaced then. That was that feeling. Where do I belong? Just myself and my things, moving, moving, moving. Then, a painting from the end of 2008, a road map, and me with my head down, pulling a suitcase behind me. Now, I think of this as my depressed painting, but the symbolism is the same. Displaced, carting my things, images of maps. Perhaps, had I listened to my hand, as it painted, I might have noticed this burn out earlier, but in all reality, I knew that but didn't know what to do with it. One thing I've learned is patience is a great skill to practice, and first and foremost is patience with one's self. So, as I am here again, and sense familiar questions, with less of the craziness of before, I also think, be patient with yourself, Molly and see what you find.