666monkey

I don't know what I think about journaling online, but I will be shocked if anybody ever reads this, so what the fuck. I've spent the last four or five years bouncing all over hell and back. I finally have come to rest in Baltimore, Maryland. I never would have predicted that. Life truly is full of mystery. Costa Rica is still my favorite of the spots I called home, but it was not meant to be home for long. Maybe it will be home again, but not for some time to come. In each of the places that I lived over the past several years, I gradually became more and more called by a voice of wanderlust that eventually had to be answered. I am suprised to find that Baltimore seems to drown out the command to pull up stakes. I suppose I am enthralled by its imperfections as much as its beauty. It is a city of contrasts. Some might find the comparison strange, but Baltimore reminds me very much of a city many of my family have called home: New Orleans. Both are port cities, and the waterfront has done much to define both cities throughout their history. Million dollar mansions rise sometimes directly across the street from decrepit stuctures that seem to be held up with little more than dust and plywood. The Red Light District is a dazzling display of neon and bad taste. Little neighborhoods forge their own identity and define their own aesthetic. Parks pepper the landscape. The people of the city have established a dialect of their very own. Nobody can deny that the place has character. I suppose it shouldn't be such a suprise to me after all that Baltimore has become my home. It is nearly as ecclectic as I am, hon.