Return of the Family Curse {Jinx Family}

[newclass=.jorggradient1]text-align:justify; background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, #434226, #d2ce9f, #264122, #908b77, #013529);linear-gradient(top, #434226, #d2ce9f, #264122, #908b77, #013529); -webkit-background-clip:text; color:transparent;[/newclass] [attr="class","jorggradient1"]It has been a great amount of time since I have been home. And for more than just an awkward get together with the random sibling here or there, but actually have been home. Packing up my studio is weird, knowing that I’ll most likely never be back. The long amount of time that I had spent here, it was my escape. What was I running from though; I never got my answer as I stare around the now empty brick room. The giant window from my old kitchen illuminates the dust in the air, drifting about with nothing to cling onto anymore. The bare hardwood still shows where the furniture once stood, the memories standing in its shadows. Maybe this wasn’t the place to get the answers that I needed, maybe which is why I’m going home. I sold off whatever furniture that I couldn’t fit into my old room, and packed away everything else away into boxes. Why does this feel so weird?


They’re my family, but at the same time I feel so estranged from them all. I haven’t been keeping up with my training like the rest of them. I only go to the gym to work out and even then I’ve been slacking, not going almost every day like I used to. I have become so accustomed to the lifestyle of being a working citizen that I forgotten how it felt to be training for something that almost barbaric. Not being in that mindset has allowed me to view these things in a different light. But I know when I move back in I’m going to be expected to regain that mindset and mentality of the training warrior, and not of the worker. It scares me knowing that my parents and my siblings will still be expecting that from me. But how do I go about changing myself back into that? I ponder all of this as I start to bring some of my boxes down the old factory stairs. I’ll miss this refurbished building, it has a nice, rustic charm to it all. I’ll miss the way that the old bricks caught the sunlight.


The sun is still high in the sky, dancing in sparkles off of the ocean surface. The ocean breeze is coming in softly as I finish loading the last of boxes, salt hanging heavily in the air. I lean against my buggy, taking in the salty breeze. My loose white tank and blue board shorts flow lightly with the breeze. At this point I am just stalling, not wanting to go back home, yet at the same time I feel so lucky to have this view every day. Maybe I am just over thinking this, but I still can’t ignore the knot forming in the pit of my stomach. Everything will be fine, won’t it? I am tempted to just not go back, find a nice little shack on the shoreline, live out the rest of my days in solidarity. I could be a nice little fisherman. As great as that sounds I probably shouldn’t be running away from my problems, as fantastic as that would be. It doesn’t help that I somehow managed to get the flu, even though I do not interact with anyone outside of my job, or outside of my building. My throat has been scratchy for a solid week now, my sinuses and chest are filled with mucus, and I barely have a voice left. This should make this little reunion even more fun. Great. Although the flu could be the cause of my upset stomach.


I finally climb into buggy, the knot still forming into my stomach, mostly because of nerves but it may be some slight illness to. Going back to the family house feels weird, it’s been too long since I’ve been back yet at the same time I have gotten used to not going back. Driving down the roads brings up old ghosts of memories that I’ve almost forgotten about. Memories that have lost almost all emotional attachment to them. It almost feels wrong for me to be coming back in this sort of manner. Yet here I am, pulling up in front of our house that somehow manages to hold the 10-12 of us that are in there on a random given day, about to walk back into the family dynamic. I grab a smaller box, and open the front door.


“Hello? Is anyone home?”