A collector's collectibles...

Anyone who walks into my apartment will notice a few things right off the bat: I have a lot of books, a lot of plants and a lot of — frogs? Yes, it's true. Since I was about five years old, I've amassed a pretty sizable collection of amphibians, including stuffed animals, candle holders, wind chimes, soap dispensers, book marks, and more. I think the obsession started when I was little and Santa Claus bestowed upon me a tadpole.... His name was Kermit and he eventually grew into an African Water Frog, almost three inches in length.

In recent weeks, however, I've started a new collection (and thus developed a new obsession): giraffes. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why I'm so enamored with these creatures...they are pretty tall. And given my small stature, it's only natural I should be drawn to something so impressively large, but I digress.

It started with a candle holder that I ordered at one of those home shows that are all the rage lately. Think Lia Sophia, but with candles. I spotted the giraffe in the catalog and just had to have it. And when I moved into my new apartment a few weeks ago (with its gloriously bare walls and their endless possibilities), I wanted to come up with some unique, creative ways to fill in the blanks, so to speak. To that end, I visited a local flea market where I found a beautiful wooden magazine rack for my living room, a few iron candle holders, a shelf to display items, a Galileo thermometer (which isn't a thermometer at all, but a barometer) and a wood-carved giraffe. Yesterday, I made another trip to the flea market where I spotted a giraffe print painted on glass with a linen backing. Although I fell in love with it, I decide against buying it... until an hour later when my friend K. texted me a photo of the exact same painting. That, to me, was as good a sign as any that I needed that giraffe, and I braved the cold rain to get it.

Following our jaunt through the flea market, I followed K. to an antique co-op down the street from my house where her father used to have a display before opening his own shop in the next town over. I've lived in this area for six years and not once have I set foot in that place. I didn't get to take a close look around because we arrived just 15 minutes before the store closed, but I have every intention of going back.

The thing about flea markets and antique shops, I'm realizing, is that they have everything you could ever possibly hope to find. One of my friends collects vintage Coca-Cola items and now, wherever I go, I'm on the lookout for something he might be interested in...I feverishly text him photos of my finds with whatever relevant information I can find on them, although usually I find reproductions and he's looking for authentic items. Both K. and my aunt collect owls (which seems like an easier collection than giraffes  because I've found hundreds of owls to my two giraffes), so whenever I spot them I have to resist the urge to purchase them for one or the other. I've spent countless hours among the piles of items for sale, searching for that one special piece and have opened my eyes to the treasure trove of shops we have here in Western Massachusetts. It's daunting and exciting at the same time.

At this point in my quest, I'm looking specifically for giraffe-related items (which, believe me, are not as easy to find as one might think), but I'm open to other things...Frogs or books, for instance. Anything to make my new apartment more like a home.

Life is good

I'm sitting at home tonight, on the couch with a book in hand and all I can think is.... I love my life.

The windows are open for the first time in nearly a week following five or more days of endless (sweltering) heat, and all the stale hot humidity has dissipated, replaced by a cool breeze blowing through the screen. It's raining outside and the sound envelopes the house, broken only by the occasional passing car and the hum of the trains moving along the tracks in the distance. As I sit here and listen to the world around me, it hits me: Life is good.

Admittedly, it's taken a while for me to reach this point. It's been five years since I moved here and I can count on one hand the number of times I've sat here quietly contemplating the fact that I lead a happy little life. And I do, I'll admit it. I hate loneliness, but I relish my time alone and tonight, I am enjoying it. Thoroughly. It's a luxury that, thanks to the fact that I'm not married and I don't have kids, I still possess... better enjoy it now.

When I first moved here (in 2006 — where did the time go?!), I called home virtually every night in tears about how much I hated it here and what a bad decision it was to move to Western Mass. I was 23 years old, fresh out of college living two hours away from my family and still naive enough to believe I could earn a good living doing what I loved to do: writing. For as many times as I've lamented my life decisions, I'll be the first to admit that it hasn't all been bad. I've met some interesting people along the way and have learned the value of living in a small, tight-knit community.

Today, I also understand the importance of alone time. It's great always being in the presence of others, but there's something to be said for the opportunity to do what you want, when you want to do it. Tonight, for instance, the TV has been shut off; in lieu of spending all my time in front of a stove cooking dinner, I was able to get away with simply heating up a can of soup; and the rest of the evening shall be spent on the couch with a book in hand. I may even turn my phone on silent and pour a glass of wine.

One day, I'm going to look back on my twenties, when I was single and free, with fondness. I know I'll miss having the opportunity to simply exist, without very many worries. I'll do what I can to enjoy it now. Let me just add that to tonight's To Do list:

*Read
*Relax
*Enjoy life

Done. What's not to love?

To do

I am neurotic. There, I've said it. Are you happy? I like order and control and if I don't have any (of one or both), it tends to drive me a little....crazy.

In anticipation of leaving work/my apartment to head back to my childhood home for a week, I've spent the last few days planning what to bring (and what not to bring) and making lists of things that need to be packed in advance as well as the day I leave, and the various chores I need to have completed before vacating my apartment for a week. Whew! I lose my breath just thinking about it. You see? It's madness, I tell you.

My to-do list has grown exponentially these last few days and while I've been gleefully crossing items off in my quest to have complete and total control over every aspect of the packing process, I've also been adding items (two things to do for every one thing I cross off, it seems). It's morphing into something beyond my control and it's driving me insane. It is especially nerve-wracking today since I am supposed to leave in a few short hours and I feel like there is still so much to do.

Part of the problem is that I need to call my landlord to come in while I'm gone to fix my bathroom sink (and possibly the tile on the bathroom floor), which means I need to erase all evidence of contraband from my humble little abode. No, I'm not talking about drugs here, I'm referring to my cat, Oreo. Kitty toys have already been hidden, my rug has already been vacuumed (several times in fact) to eradicate any excess kitty litter/hairballs, the food/water dishes will be packed along with his litter box, all pictures of him (and all other felines) have been removed. If you didn't know any better and you came into my place, you'd never know there was a cat in there... I hope. All is neat and tidy, even my bathroom, which I scrubbed with vigor last night.

But now that I'm all set to go, I've got mixed feelings about leaving. In the past, I've always left here to escape being lonely but now that I've got a life here and people I enjoy spending time with, I can't help but feel like I'm going to be missing out on all the fun with my friends.

*sigh*

I suppose once I leave and settle in at my parents, I'll be happy to be gone and the week will fly by way too fast, right?

That said, I'm still sure I'll miss home.

The great escape

It's been almost a year since I took any substantial period of time off work.

The last time I took a vacation was December when my then-boyfriend and I were in the midst of a (brutal) break-up and I did the only think I could think of to do at that time: packed up my belongings and ran home with my tail between my legs to seek comfort from my parents. It's almost hard to acknowledge that as a vacation, in retrospect.

While it's true that I'll only be heading back home to spend the week with my family next week, this time I'll be reading, relaxing and recharging my batteries. It's a much-needed, well-deserved break from life in Monson. As much as I love it here, I can't wait to escape.

Last night I went to the Monson town meeting and despite the fact that I was covering it for work, I found I actually enjoyed myself. (That right there is an indication that I am in desperate need of a vacation.) It was fun listening to the different points-of-view from people I've come to know very well during my four years here. Having an understanding of who these people are definitely adds a certain (entertaining) element to town meeting, that's for sure. But while I was sitting there, absorbing life in what has become my favorite small town, I felt a longing for familiarity; for what used to be home.

Dracut has a certain attraction for me. I once made the excursion cross-state (more than three hours round trip) just to get a Tiramisu from my favorite Italian restaurant, Mamas. I've ventured back home and spent hours watching the cows graze at Shaw Farm or lost amid the stacks of books at The Book Rack. And one of my good friends from high school has opened a bakery in town that I've been dying to visit for at least three months. I'm looking forward to going back and enjoying all those things that I took for granted while I lived there.

Over the last four years, I've come to regard Monson as being home, but it will never quite replace Dracut; I will always compare the two in my mind. It's great living a life of my own away from my parents and struggling to survive and all, but sometimes a girl just wants to give up the good fight and take a breather. Certainly, I'll appreciate my life here after spending a week or so there. I'll miss my friends and the comfort of my apartment, but that will just make vacation all the more worthwhile.

Domestic bliss

It's no secret that I lack a certain prowess in the kitchen. Perhaps if my kitchen was wider than your average hallway I might like to flit around the room with my favorite recipe book and a few Pyrex dishes filled with desserts, but my humble abode came complete with a stove smack dab in the middle of (you guessed it!) a hallway and, well, I can't be bothered to spend any length of time there.

Given this obvious lack of skills, whenever I do feel the urge to cook/bake or do anything in the kitchen that involves a hot appliance (stove/oven, toaster or coffee maker to name a few), my friends joke around about my not setting fire to the place. This joke is usually quickly followed with another joke about how I should start a fire, if, for nothing else than to get the fire department to my house and meet my future husband.

While I haven't actually started a fire in order to meet hot men, I have spent a considerable amount of time in their presence and while they're definitely up my alley, they're most definitely not husband material. At least not for me. I'm sure their wives would argue that they make perfectly acceptable husbands, but I digress.

I've got a sudden urge to bake something lately, potential risk of fire be damned. Apple crisp, brownies, cookies, cake...you name it, I wanna make it. The cleaning up process after said baking is a bit of a turnoff, however. With so little space in my kitchen, my sink leaves a little more to be desired. The bowls, pans and spoons from dinner/dessert last weekend are still waiting to be cleaned, although if you ask me, they've been "soaking" for so long they've probably cleaned themselves by now.

This sudden need for delicious scents to waft through my apartment (and not through use of scented candles) coupled with my recent redecorating project at home is starting to raise a number of red flags in my mind. What on earth is going on with me lately? Has domestic tranquility finally set in at the tender age of 27? Say it ain't so! But then I'd rather sit home with a bottle of wine, some homemade dessert and a romantic comedy than go out bar hopping with my friends.

Perhaps the world has fallen off its axis?After all, I live in Western Mass after swearing never to return after college; I'm dating someone whose profession isn't listed as one of the civil services; my apartment has never been cleaner and I appear to want nothing more than to be June Cleaver or that damn Donna Reed.

My, how things have changed.

The little things

I found it, the pièce de résistance that brings together my little redecorating project at home: a "painting" of a chocolate Labrador that looks exactly like Guinness. The artist did a superb job capturing the quizzical expression of the dog, which looks so eerily similar to my beautiful boy that I had to buy it. In doing so, I gave up the longed-for A to Z bookends I had gone to the store to buy, but sometimes you have to make sacrifices in life.

Doc said he'd hang it up for me next time he came over — right over the TV where it'll garner a significant amount of attention (from me, that is). After all, I'm forever watching television, staring in the general direction of the wall in which the picture will hang.

I'm so excited. Clearly, it's the little things that make me happy in life.

Home Sweet Home

I spent the vast majority of my weekend ensconced in my apartment in an attempt to make it feel more like home. I've come to terms with the fact that I'm not moving any time soon and after four years there, I should probably feel comfortable/happy.

Dad and Uncle Gerry brought over two six-feet-tall bookcases which I had set up with books/DVD and various tchotchkes that were previously packed away in boxes that cluttered my already tiny living space. With the addition of the bookcases though, and the subtraction of the boxes coupled with a shuffle of furniture in my living room, my claustrophobia-inducing apartment actually feels quite roomy and, moreover, I like spending time there.

This is all new for me.

Thanks to a few new vanilla-scented candles as well as a vanilla-scented oil diffuser air freshener, it smells wonderful... like I've just baked a cake, despite my lack of kitchen/baking/cooking prowess.

And in talking to one of my girlfriends today, It occurred to me that the holidays are just around the corner, which means I'll be able to set up some of my Christmas/winter decorations. I can't wait.

For the first time in a long time, I feel blissfully, comfortably happy. Suddenly, I love being a homebody.

Where the heart is

Whenever life gets to be too much to bear or whenever work stresses me into a near-coma, I do the only thing I know how to do to get through it: I go home.

Life is starting to overwhelm me and I don't want to deal with it anymore. At least not for the time being. I want to step back, regroup and get myself back to whatever is considered "normal" for me. Usually, this means taking a week off from work, packing up some clothes and other necessities and heading to my parents' house in Eastern Mass for some R&R. Given that my last vacation from work was last December -- which I don't consider a vacation, exactly, since I just left town in order to not have to face the sudden demise of my relationship -- I'm starting to feel a little worn. And ragged.

Everything about life is wearing on me; I can't breathe. I find it difficult to think. Just getting out of bed in the morning is a challenge. I dread the thought of having to go into work every day because then I'd actually have to engage with others and frankly, I don't have the energy to try anymore.

I once told my boyfriend that the easiest way to decode my state of mind was to keep track of how often I read. If I'm devouring multiple books a week, I'm in a happy place. If I can barely crack a binding, there's something seriously wrong with my world. Guess which category I fall into today?

I haven't been to my parents house since my birthday last month; before that the last time I ventured back there was around Christmas. Maybe I went home in January or February for a weekend, but given we're at the tail end of August, that's still a considerable amount of time to stay away. I don't really want to go back, but I definitely don't want to be here anymore. I need a change of scenery. Life in a small town is great, yes, but it's a bit lonely and I can't bear the thought of being here on my own for much longer.

I still have two weeks of vacation from work to use up before the end of the year and I'm in such a bad way I don't even feel like traveling anywhere; I just want to go home. Take two weeks off and go sleep in my own bed, eat a home cooked meal every night and not have to worry about paying bills, chasing fire trucks or writing 1,000 words on deadline. I want to simply exist without all the stress that comes with living.

Why is it I feel this way now, when everything in my life is going decently (or at the very least, not badly)? Why do I suddenly feel desperate to move on? Why can't I sit back and enjoy this time of my life? My 20s are whizzing by and I can barely climb out from underneath the covers to participate in it.

I suddenly understand what Dorothy meant when she said, "There's no place like home."

For me, home is more than just where the heart is. It's where I go when I need to escape; it's a place of refuge.

If only I was home right now.