Home Isn’t Where My Heart Is….Mine Is Still Lookin’ For It’s Home.

I had to work today.  So now I’m all scratched up.  And, a few bug bites as well.
I hate trimming blackberries, because, most of the time, it tends to be painful.  I had gloves on, but I had a t-shirt on, so my arms were ready to be cut up.  It’s not pretty, let me tell ya.  But, I’m closer to being rich, so it’s all good.
Actually, I don’t want to be rich.  Ever.  I mean, it would be nice, ya, but I don’t want to have to worry about money.  Rich people tend to worry about money.  Which, is insane – you have plenty of it, why worry about it?  I would rather have enough money to get by, enough for a little extra here and there, and have no more than that.
I normally work for the neighbor lady, but she has a friend who lives in “town” (not the real town, but the one where school is).  Anyway, we went there, because my neighbor works for her and stuff, so ya.
She’s in a wheelchair.  My neighbor, Kathy, was telling me all about it.  She’s been in it since she was 16, I think she said, and her spine is severed, so she feels no pain from about the chest down.  However, she’s able to do everything that everyone else can do.  I mean, she can’t do it all, but she gets around her house just fine, she has a garden that is doing rather good, and Kathy told me that she and her two daughters were able do a whole bunch of stuff to one of the houses they lived in, and she was able to do all this stuff, and she’s in a wheelchair.
It was cool.  She’s a nice lady and stuff.  Kathy said that she’ll probably want me to work for her again and again, which is cool, because, well, one it’s work, but she’s not a boring old person. :p
I like her house.  It’s not big, no.  It’s not small either though.  It’s awesome though.  She’s got a whole bunch of “nick knacks” I guess you’d call them everywhere, it was cool.  My house is, um, retarded.  It’s so plain, so un-homey, so plain and boring (yes, I said boring twice).  While, this other lady’s house is awesomely decorated without even any decorating.
My house is the anti-thesis of a home.
She had a sign on her wall, “ok, so it isn’t home sweet home, adjust.”  I think it’s wrong.  It sure seemed like “home sweet home” to me.  Looked as if she was comfortable there, as if everything was the way she wanted it to be, nothing that isn’t homey.
My house, nothing.  There is a picture/painting of some pictures on the wall in the dinning room.  Some flower pictures/paintings in the living room.  There are a whole bunch of wolf decorations in the family room (if you want to call it that..there’s a chair and the wood stove).  There is some lighthouse decorations in the living room. There are seashells on the window sill in the kitchen, and other than that, our house is pretty much void of decoration.  VOID.  I wish it wasn’t.  My bedroom is the cheeriest room in the house, if I do say so myself, and it’s lacking even!

I don’t know, I guess I’m just going on and on about the faults of this place again.  I just, I don’t know, want to live somewhere that seems like home.  This house doesn’t seem like home.  It doesn’t.  I mean, sure it’s my room, but it’s not my home.  Don’t they say that “home is where the heart is”?  My heart isn’t here….Never really has been here (at least not with this house).  Its rather sad though, that this place can’t be a home for me.  Because it’s supposed to be home.
And it’s not…