while on the plane headed home yesterday, i was texting with a and she made a comment that really struck me. she reminded me how several months ago, i looked forward to escaping “home” any chance i could. even a trip to the store was a sought after break from my reality. a lot of things then were really about escaping. about getting away. about separating myself from my then life. be it short trips, long trips, even virtual trips into video games or movies… it was all the same motivation.
and then yesterday, high above the atlantic, heading back home after 9 days of being nearly 6000 kms away from everything i knew, all i could think about, all i could talk about, was how much i wanted to get back home. not my home from 6 months ago, but my home from today. i missed my cat. i missed my coffee. i missed my couch and my desk and my projects and my shower and my kitchen and my kids and.. i guess.. my life. weird. not bad weird. good weird. still weird.
i still think about k a lot. i wonder how she is doing. i hope she is ok. i know my thoughts have been wildly chaotic and often not so happy though out this whole thing, but i also had been processing for months and months and months. i don’t know for sure that she is in the same place. she might be where i was months ago but without some of the uncertainty… i suspect we were reading from the same book, but i was a few chapters ahead of her and i told her what was going to happen… but she still needs to read the book. eugh, that was a sloppy analogy, but hopefully it makes sense.