I'm back and my cheeks are dry from the light sunburns of last week. I wouldn't trade them. Coming home from a wonderful trip is always a bit rough, just like when visitors leave and the holidays are over.
And then there's work and some down time and meals and sleep, but you can't help feeling like there's something more you should be doing.
And then it's that feeling like you're coming down with something, only you probably aren't, kind of like how kids say they have a stomachache even though the school nurse says they're fine and then Mom realizes that they're just nervous because it's the first week of school and everything is new.
Only I know it about myself because I come home from somewhere every few weeks and know it's just that "being back" feeling.
Being back. Back where? Back to normal. What is normal?
Questions I often ask, especially on metro time.
When I see people whose lives are so transparent
though language divides us.
A mother and daughter laughing,
books and newspapers,
someone sad,
a great pair of shoes.
I could almost step in and ask a question,
but I don't because the breaks squeal and it's time to transfer.
And we walk fast and faces are lost in the crowd.
And I'm not complaining because I love my life, I just feel sick and feel like there's something more I should be doing and have just come home.
And that always makes me extra introspective.
And then there's work and some down time and meals and sleep, but you can't help feeling like there's something more you should be doing.
And then it's that feeling like you're coming down with something, only you probably aren't, kind of like how kids say they have a stomachache even though the school nurse says they're fine and then Mom realizes that they're just nervous because it's the first week of school and everything is new.
Only I know it about myself because I come home from somewhere every few weeks and know it's just that "being back" feeling.
Being back. Back where? Back to normal. What is normal?
Questions I often ask, especially on metro time.
When I see people whose lives are so transparent
though language divides us.
A mother and daughter laughing,
books and newspapers,
someone sad,
a great pair of shoes.
I could almost step in and ask a question,
but I don't because the breaks squeal and it's time to transfer.
And we walk fast and faces are lost in the crowd.
And I'm not complaining because I love my life, I just feel sick and feel like there's something more I should be doing and have just come home.
And that always makes me extra introspective.
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