I am homeward bound. Home, where my music's playing, the land of milk and honey, where the Holy has been hiding in ink this whole time.
After 8 months away from the good ol' U S of A, I am a little apprehensive about moving back. 'A little' might be an understatement. Kili is going to have to carry me kicking and screaming from the French bakery on the corner. For as much as I hated it to begin with here, I've begun to think of
I am terrified of having culture shock about my own culture. And I know it's going to happen. Seeing Ian's GIANT tube of toothpaste at Christmastime was funny, but bursting into tears at the supermarket because the labels are in English is not going to be. Alright, alright, so maybe I won't be crying at the Co-op because the produce section says "grapefruit" instead of "pamplemousse", but you get the idea. Being uncomfortable in a situation where I should feel totally at ease just makes it all the more awkward. Moving to
Although, the past few weeks in
But the thing is, I'm sure it's the same everywhere in
Not to wax too poetic (or patriotic…) but I guess that’s what