I haven't felt at home for over two months. Even though my clothes are in the closet, my bedding is on the bed and my shampoo is on the shelf in the shower, it still feels like I'm living in someone else's space. Probably because I am.
It makes me tired. I feel like I have to tip-toe and polite my way around my days. I'm sure it's not a picnic for them to have us living here either. But we're all trying and I think that counts for something.
Yesterday I felt overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by the prospect of leaving on a vacation. I feel like I've been preparing to leave to someplace else for half a year. I sort of have been. I just want to be where I'm going already. It's not that the anticipation is hard, it's that preparation gets old, packing is tedious and my brain can never rest because it's constantly buzzing with Don't forget to order this before you go and You'd better remember to renew your credit card before you leave. . . It seems like there's always something to remember.
I needed a break by late afternoon. I sat in front of the fan and let the wind fill my ears with noisy silence. It was the most peaceful I have felt in a while. Ada was sitting up in a nest made by my legs crossed Indian-style; content for a moment just listening to the whir. It was calming to know that if someone called I couldn't hear so I didn't have to respond.
Maybe moving out of our apartment was good for more reasons than I thought. It's made staying in Provo an uncomfortable prospect. I can't wait to leave for Italy because I can't wait to feel at home again. Whatever "home" means anyway.