Can you ever really belong somewhere, or do you just kind of… occupy a space with your stuff and your body and your past until it’s time to move on?

I mean, physical items don’t even really have one place in which they belong– I place books on my bookshelf, but I can also keep them on my desk, or the floor, or anywhere I want. There might be places where they are designed to go, but there’s no one places, or even a series of places, where they have to go. Some places are more convenient than others, certainly, and maybe even make more sense. There are also places where you generally don’t want to put things, like you’re probably not keeping your books in the bathtub or the oven– unless you don’t use either of those things for anything other than storing your books, in which case you’ve made a home for something in a place where it usually doesn’t belong.

Do people work like that? How would you know when you, or anyone, was in the right place? Can you even know it while you’re there, or can you only realize it in absence?
I think about these kinds of things a lot.

 

 

Unrelated: I have plans to update this blog to the current life situation, and quite possibly to even update regularly, I just have to carve out some time to get it all taken care of.

 

 

 

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