I'm still not feeling at home in the holiday home. Not something that I had anticipated but after quite a few weeks of living here I've come to the conclusion that a holiday home can't feel like home for the likes of me. For the other family members who've stayed here and who are here now I don't know. They may feel at home in some temporary way. For me it's not, it's hotel style with pale carpets and annoying appliances and strange noises that the AC emits, downpours of lizards, heat and energy sapping atmospheric special effects and ice machines. Cups, knives and dish towels that I don't recognize, like a futuristic camping trip that never ends, shop to shop to garbage can with intermittent holiday events taking place on a routine basis, I can live with this and I can like it but it's not home.
Disclaimer: Things on this blog are often written during thunder storms, towards the end of a hangover or whilst hungry or disorientated. They generally do not reflect any part of recognised reality or normal life and should not be used as part of any wider programme of research or exploration. These things being strange and foreign concepts that have no place in my own carefully constructed alternative reality. There is no point in any pursuit other than the fun that may be had or by some chance occur. If this means nothing then leave it be so that it may all be nothing and so find some temporary rest way over there somewhere.