Where am I at?

I feel like I have to slog through old stuff in order to get on with things. This feeling is magnified by the boxes I keep acquiring. I have moved around a lot and had a sort of fragmented life. I like that, but I need to pull the pieces of it together and figure out what to do with them. The side of me that is more of a dancer/risk-taker still exists, but the internally-focused, seemingly-still one is winning. Maybe it's like when a person dismisses a certain tome, and then suddenly realizes that he or she needs to read and understand it for some reason. I used to look forward to a time when I could sort through all my experiences and make something out of them. But now I find that I miss my younger self, sometimes. Today, Old Home Town was part of my quasi-enjoyable slogging process. Ever since I read in a biography about Rose Wilder Lane complaining that she couldn't write anything significant because she was obligated to work on her mother's "goddamned juvenile"(!) I have entertained an interest in seeing something theatrical about her life.