Feeling sentimental again. Or did I ever stop? I suppose my life is an unending cycle of sentimentality and melancholy, interspersed with moments of sleeping. I'm usually relatively happy, but lately I'm feeling like such a useless lump that it's hard. I am a useless lump; Greg confirmed it. I won't deny it. It's true.
I miss my friends. I mean, I always did, but tonight it actually hurts. Greg's absence has been hurting me every day since I flew out of Portland, I cry almost every night (I feel so pathetic typing that), but the absence of my friends has been a dull ache. Of course I miss them, but then I'm used to friends moving, going to college, leaving Montana, joining the Peace Corps, going to grad school. I was even the one leaving, once, but nobody really missed me except my mom, and I went to Portland where my best friends were. Now I've left them, not even a full two years later, and I'm alone again. Tonight the dull ache is a sharper pang.
I'm being a sadsack but if I can't be a sadsack in my own blog where the hell can I be one? I guess I'm writing this for my friends back in Portland, mostly. I miss you guys. I miss you guys so much. At the end of this stint in England, what I want most is to go back to Portland and see you all again, drink Oregon beer with you again, eat a shit-ton of Thai food because there's so much of it in Portland (and so little by comparison in London), and watch Trek in the Park or have coffee on Hawthorne. I think of home, and it's Portland. It's all of you there.
I don't know if I'll make it back. There are so many things that could happen in a year. I could be taken on by a British publishing house, doomed to spend years in London working with my agent and editing and promoting my novel (ha!). I could decide to fly back to Utah to meet Greg, and stay there for years. I might decide I need to cut all earthly bonds and ascend, like Daniel Jackson in SG-1. I could even fall so deeply in love with England that I could never imagine leaving. You never know. I accept that. I do. I think I do, a little. Maybe? ...I accept, anyway, that I don't know what's ahead.
I do know that if I had my way, "home" would always be in Portland. I'd have a city to go back to. Because ever since Missoula grew too small for me, I've only felt at home in one place, and it was my one-bedroom apartment in Southeast Portland. I fucking loved that place. It was the best place. Greg and I made it ours. It was our cozy Portland place. I miss it.
I don't regret a thing, though. London? I love it here! It's London! But it's huge, chaotic, and grasping. I imagine when it's done with me it'll spit me out, like an owl pellet, whereas Portland would always hold me close to its beating heart. I don't mind. London might be too much for me in the long-term, but there's always the rest of England. And the world.
You never know.
I do know that I miss you all. My friends. You mean more to me than anything else in the world. So come visit me, you giant lazy butts. ♥
Finally, though, I'm more than a pile of fucking grateful for Shaun, my fellow ex-patriot trapped in London's wonderful claws. We love it here. It's absolutely amazing. We're like adventurers, explorers, spelunking in the great foreign recesses of the city. Sometimes we get lost, feel lonely or homesick, have weird emotional outbursts for no reason, but at least we have each other. And we make this city pretty damn fun when we have a mind to.