I am alive.
I think, anyway.
I am home.
I thought, anyway.
Really, my return to Oklahoma has been like attempting to crash-land a space shuttle while doing CPR on the original pilot using only my feet and an aardvark. (Don’t ask me why the aardvark is necessary for CPR or piloting a space craft, because I have no idea).
Lately, a new wrinkle has been added to what may actually be a full-on depression. I will be feeling particularly miserable about life, and into my head will pop this thought, “I just want to go home.” Often this occurs to me while I am sitting on the sofa in my own house. Seconds later I will realize that I have no idea where home is, and then burst into tears.
Alicia and I talked about it, and realized what we’re both homesick for a place that we can’t locate, that certainly doesn’t exist anymore, and that possibly never existed in the first place.
Suffice to say that it’s been rough.
Adding to the roughness is the strange feeling that I went from being the center of a community where I was respected and adored, to being a somewhat awkward add-on to all of the old communities that folded closed while I was away. This is a significant step down, and encourages me to hermit instead of trying to see people.
But I am alive.
I am alive and also back to writing, which is on my list of Action Steps to Take to Make Life Suck Less. Another one of those action steps was going with Jessie to “seedy cowboy bars” last night, the story of which I will regale you with shortly.
If anyone is still out there, I appreciate your patience. Regular service is resuming.