Six more weeks ..

.. and I'll be home.
I'm cleaning my room, throwing a whole lot of stuff. Most of everything I own has no value. The last seven years of my life fit in two suitcases. I have a few books, two pairs of shoes, some pictures .. everything else is a jpg, pdf or mp3. I own one pair of pants, two pairs of shorts, a dozen t-shirts. I have no sweaters, no suits, no dress anything. I have a dozen pair of underwear, most of which are very old and have holes in the bottom. I also own about ten pairs of socks. I have to get rid of a printer, my computer, a dvd player and a couple of computer monitors I inherited from my last job, when we all got laid off. I have a minidisk player. I'll never use that again, so I have to get rid of it, too. They evoke good memories, but I still have to get rid of all that stuff. And I don't have much furniture either. I have no bed. I have an Ikea foam mattress I bought two years ago - and I have no dresser. I have an office cabinet I found in the street. That'll go back there.
I see this as the end of a long exile.
I know that I'm romanticizing the whole thing: I think that it'll be easier there, when in fact it's probably going to be much harder. I don't know what part is hard. How I'll adapt will determine how hard it's gonna be. I have to keep my project alive and work toward it in a way that makes sense for me. I think my goals will start by being very small so that they can be manageable. I want to start walking, then I'll start running again. I need the space and I need the environment. I can't adjust here, maybe because I don't really want to. I'm just not motivated to build anything here.
Don't get me wrong: I love the American people, I love being an American myself. I have lived in America more than half of my whole life, I'll always be attached to the idea of the American democracy. But my heart and my true family is not here. I can resist as much as I possibly could; in the end I have to go home and face my fears.