Only four or five years ago, I couldn’t adjust to college life only two hours away from home. I called daily for the first few weeks, at times begging to be brought home. I just “couldn’t do it”. Well, I did it. Even if it meant coming home every weekend and then later on every other weekend. Even when I “moved in” with P for a year or so, I still made a point to go home every time I was in for the weekend. I always thought I’d end up married and with kids here in Kentucky, seeing my family on weekends and calling at least someone every evening.
And then I moved to England. How’s that for a different direction?
I know people thought I probably wouldn’t do it or go through with it. I know the type of person I am, and I have to tell ya, even I doubted myself and my decision to move there at times. Hell, I still do. But then I think about how much I’ve matured and grown as a person and how much I have left to grow, and I know it’s all for the best.
But now it’s getting harder to leave. Really, really hard. Now I’m craving that little house with N here in Louisville. I want those nightly phone calls and weekend lunches/visits. I want to settle down and have kids. I feel like I’m done with living elsewhere. I want to put down roots, and I just don’t see that happening in London.
Erg. This is all just stream of consciousness writing to ease my nerves. I don’t feel like any of this is making any sense, so I’ll leave off here.
Memom wanted a bit more of an upbeat entry, so hopefully this’ll suffice. Not exactly jumping for joy, but not weeping either.