I keep nodding off. My mind is a vacuous hall, freckled with sashaying white feathers. I decided to force myself to write, attempt to gain some grounding and fulfill a need. After writing this blog since last October, I’ve become dependant on it. Why? (she lifts then drops her shoulders). I’m too tired to probe.
Jet lag is playing the unpredictable imp right now. I’ve been sleeping when I should be awake, awake when I should be tangled in my duvet of dreams. I’ve moved back into my little house in the UK. Unpacking my possessions, boxed for months, has been a nocturnal operation, carried out when the world outside is still and only the foxes zig zag the streets. Bubble wrap and newspaper have been ripped apart in an excited frenzy as I rediscover books I’d forgotten I own; the sculptured bust (head not booby) of my dearest, departed friend, resident, once again, on my mantle; kitchen adornments, gadgets and machines of mass concoction…..I am home.
My house…my house! I’m so happy to be here, in my house that is ‘me’. The village where my house sits is ‘picture postcard’ beautiful. High on a ridge with green fields, lush dense beech woods and old, old brick oast houses flanked by immaculate gardens with rhododendrons of eye-popping colours and perfectly mowed lawns. Its gorgeous, abundant, lush, picturesque, historic. Boring.
Yo Yoing back and forth between the US and the UK has enabled me to get perspective of the reality of my birthland.. Here, my excited puppy dog heart is kept in check with pinched lips and rolling eyes, spontaneous hugs are thought only for hippies and not commonplace among your average uptight, UK citizen. I used to think it was me… that, I had a problem. Was I too needy? Oft confused as to why body language and words sometimes failed to be in unison, I would walk away from conversations with people whose small talk was spoken, muffled, through the layers of protection they built around themselves. My heart would be left belittled and dejected. Flying thousands of miles to California did nothing to alter my personality. I am the same me but the reactions and interactions in the USA leave my homeland people to shame. Don’t get me wrong, I still encounter a few Americans with words and actions that don’t quite flow but it seems to matter to me less. No English friend has ever emailed me with a snapshot of her wall with my picture pinned to it, telling me how she and her friends are praying daily the Universe brings me back to them. My ears ring and I bathe luxuriously in the upbeat, melodic, playful, language they use. On day one of my return, words like ‘sullen, overcast, dreary, moody’, and others I more successfully swatted away, filtered back into my realm once more. I hadn’t missed them. Not a jot. I’d never dream of ‘high 5ing’ a stranger in England. So, I fold myself back up again. forlorn origami. ‘What are your plans now?’, the most used question posed to me…not, ‘so, tell me about your adventures!’,(and I had a few). I shrug. I don’t know. I have returned to the place that I love that doesn’t love me back. I am in a relationship with a country that is akin to being married to someone and, though, still loving them, you know it just isn’t right. You need to break up. I’m ‘stamp my feet’ cross that I can’t seem to make it work.
I’m trying to remain open. To allow my experience here to improve. I’ve changed since I left here in October 2010. Maybe, things here might have shifted too. For instance, my village has its first annual fringe festival and goings on are afoot. It’s actually quite good. Also, my diary is beginning to stir with things to do, people to see. Friends to catch up with. The weather is beautiful, that always helps. It’s time to rediscover the treasures I dug up here before, uncover new and exciting ways of erasing the void. My stomach has been on constant red alert since I packed up my belongings, and the ‘faultless’ Air New Zealand crew and their newly built flying machine carted me back home. I suspect my hunger is not all down to jet lag and post travel fatigue.
I pray I’ll bounce back. Remain true. Right now, though I’m surrounded by the palate of a vibrant spring, my heart is dejected. My mind is clueless as to my next move and my waistline, once again the object of self scrutiny, (back in the UK my appearance more important…a pathetic attempt to be more acceptable, appealling…..crazy, I know), is 2 inches in excess. The making of which I blogged about with much joy http://www.aveganobsession.blogspot.com/
Note to self……Sleep more, trust more, risk more, pray more, worry not. My hand lingers over the PUBLISH button…do you really want to hear about my crappy musings? Do you know what I’d really like? What would make me feel better? Is for all of those people out there who hold themselves back, don’t take the time to tell their story through lack of confidence, don’t enter in to conversation than detailing the weather, leaving the recipient with a feeling of emptiness, to stop and think. Your stories are a gift….you are a gift….so take a deep breath, go out and share. See how your world changes.
Now I am spent, Jet lag monkey has swung down and grabbed me once more. I am off to lay down in an English meadow, among the long grass and worm casts and listen to the earth moving…all the while dreaming of a large colourful hot air balloon, bedecked with twirling ribbons, transporting me and my pretty little house over the high seas to California.