I’m up and sleepless. With worry.
A weight is in my chest, just above my heart. My throat is a little dry, and my muscle wont move but wont relax. This is what thinking about the future gets you.
It’s come up lately. And the right thing to do is not too far from something I want to do. You know in school, in your last few years, they make you study your ass off for stuff you don’t care about to keep your options open. This terrible idea of keeping your options open.
Options are closing now. But that’s not even really what I’m thinking about. What’s got me worried is coming home.
I don’t think I want to.
Cathy thinks that every traveller here thinks of leaving. They may have been here 30 years, but if you ask them when they are going home, they will have an answer. Maybe it’s a few months. Maybe it’s a few years. But there’s a finish line.
I don’t know where that line is for me. But I know I have to be home soon and I’m dreading it. Johanna always said I was running away. But I just don’t like going back. I just feel like there will be many people back home for whom I will have nothing to say.
‘Remember When…’ is the lowest form of conversation. Remember when we did this? Or that? I know some people love it, but I hate it. And I’m dreading, really dreading, from the bottom of my washing machine stomach. Just writing this – it’s making me want to throw up.
This might sound mean. I don’t know I feel the need to write this down. And maybe it’s good. I’ll have low expectations. But from experience, people see you with old eyes. First impressions are hard to break. And people dislike change. Generalisations, yes.
And it’s not everyone, of course. The people who still mean a lot to me, and I hope I make it clear who you are when I speak or email (or text) you. But the rabble. Oh god.
I don’t want to sound like the arrogant prick who says “I’ve been overseas and nothing’s better than that.” I don’t think it’s that. You might not think so, though. But I’m on the defensive already.
I’m trying to think of the point of this rant to sum it up. I’m not sure there is one. All I wanted to say is I’m coming home. And I’m worried. I guess, I don’t like change either.
When are you coming home then? P.S. Yes I still read your blog.