I may be a Rolling Stone

I don't know if it was recently seeing my best friend's AHHMAZING Mid-Century Modern home... Or hearing things about the houses we were looking to buy before. But I think I've firmly planted one of my feet *out-the-door* of our current home.
Yes, it's fun to live in this turn-of-the-century treasure chest, where we find *Reel-to Reel Burlesque* and *Wizard Oil* in the walls, but something about this place isn't feeling like home to me. Also, i don't know what that feeling is, what does it mean to feel like where you live is "home"? Is it an attachment feeling, like you would feel toward a person? I don't know if I've ever felt this about any place I've lived. Maybe in our first house, I did cry when we left that place. But all the other dwellings where I've hung my hat have been just that... somewhere to hang my hat, for now.
When I think about our current house, I just see every single surface as a project. "Oh yeah, the floors look like shit, should probably do something about that." Kitchen, Bathrooms, everything just hanging and needing to be fixed, decades of neglect waiting for some TLC... it's overwhelming.
I think that maybe in the summer I'll feel differently, when I don't have to use my car anymore and I can walk everywhere and the lake will be lovely and we'll get cookies in town. But I still think my heart wants to live in one of those Mid-Century homes, I ache for them. gah, who knows.