I have a weird habit of crying during TV shows. Not like mindless shows (i.e. anything on HGTV or The Food Network), but actual TV show series (minus The Bachelor). I just get so emotionally involved with the characters that I feel like I know them, hence all the crying. Anyways, two weeks ago I was catching up on one of my favorite series, Nashville (and crying of course) only to go on Facebook after and see that the series had been cancelled. CANCELLED. And then–as if my night could get any worse–I scrolled down a little further to see that Castle had also been CANCELLED. Two of my favorite TV shows cancelled within 15 minutes. Legitimately devastating.
It all started with my GoogleMaps.
Sitting in my car, I started to type in “home.” I have “home” set to my apartment in Manayunk, although it wasn’t until I was typing it in that I felt weird calling my current apartment “home.” Sure, I love my apartment and love my roommate, but is it really “home”? And thus, the simple task of opening GoogleMaps lead to a philosophical internal debate about what “home” means to me.
This is what I think about as an “adult.”
“Home” really isn’t my apartment in Manayunk. Nor is it my parents’ house in New Jersey. The closest thing to “home” is Villanova, but hey, I don’t really belong there anymore. So really, where is my “home”? Continue reading