There are 35 days until I fly home and for the past two weeks I've felt like I was sinking in quicksand. Every day has been a mountain I wasn't sure I could climb. I've never felt further from vacation, even though it's staring me down. Sometimes I wish my mood wouldn't be so erratic. I feel like I'm in the bottom of a hole that someone dug as a trap and there is no way out. And then just as suddenly, that begins to seem like the dumbest exaggeration of my existence here. I honestly don't know what is real anymore. I'm hoping vacation gives me back that clarity.
I can't promise that I will write much while I'm home, being in the throes of rest and relaxation. However I will try to jot down all the things I find bizarre coming back, because I'm sure my panic of being reintroduced into society can be spun with humor.
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