Home.
I walked down the street tonight, turned a corner and into my neighborhood movie theatre. I have a neighborhood movie theatre, for the next week anyway. Despite a friend pulling out bad reviews at my showing interest in seeing The Weather Man, I enjoyed it. Because this isn't the life I imagined myself living, but it's the life I lead. I've made a decision to do something I always envisioned doing with someone else, but I've done it on my own. I've got to learn to be ok with that.
Outside my window is a perfect fall evening. Where the slight wind blows the dying leaves off the trees, leaving the sidewalks and streets littered with colorful crunchiness. I walked the two blocks home from the neighborhood theatre and just breathed. I breathed in the air I'm leaving behind. I took in the sights that in one week I will not be able to claim ownership over.
There is something about a movie set in my town that distracts me. I try not to let it take away from the film but as the film progresses I can't help but point out the sights to that voice in my head going "oh, do you know where that is?". Sure I do, it's the house with beaten down siding I used to stare at everyday off the north side of the brown line tracks between Southport and Paulina. The films are imaginary but the lives that intersect with the sights aren't. Everyday we go about our lives, sitting idly by as the train glides passed those those run down houses with disintegrating shingles. It may make up the backdrop, but this isn't a movie set, it's home.