I know how well I've got it compared to some. I have a wonderful husband who's willing to do just about anything to ensure that I'm happy. I have two beautiful children who, although they drive me crazy half the time, I wouldn't trade the world for and have been told repeatedly what darlings they are, that I'm spoiled to have them. I've gotten the opportunity to live abroad and travel outside of the US, experiencing things most of my family has only dreamed about. So what's wrong with me? Why isn't this enough?
I'm homesick. There. I said it. I try not to say it too often, because frankly, what good will it do? I live in England. Do I have friends here? No, not really. My friends are all online or scattered across the US. One of the reasons I've gotten addicted to writing fanfic is because it brings me into contact with so many people. Hell, I've made some of my best friends through my stories. But that doesn't help on the day to day. It doesn't give me someone who I can relate to, who I can call at the drop of a hat when life is a little stressy without having to sit and calculate whether the time difference means I'll be waking them up in the middle of the night. Wanna know who I call when I want to share something? My mother-in-law. How sad is that.
I know, I know. I should get out more, go make some friends. Take a class. Maybe get a part-time job. I've heard it before and it's all great advice. Except it doesn't work for me. I am not an outgoing person under the best of circumstances, and funnily enough, even after living over here for over 4 years, I still get intimidated by almost every English person I meet. Because they understand their world around them. Because they don't have to fight every other sentence to understand the references that get made. Because they don't have to defend themselves for being what they are to near strangers (I still get hell for being American from at least a third of the people I meet or see on a daily basis).
The US is not the same country I left in '99. A lot of crap has happened and it's very different. But it's still home. And I miss it. I miss being able to go through my day understanding how things work. I miss knowing where to turn to for answers. I miss...being in control.
That big thing I mentioned a little while ago? Craig knows about my homesickness and has been making it well known within his company that he's open to relocating. There's currently an offer on the table for him to go work in the parent company in California. It would mean moving back to the US next spring most likely. Do I want this? My instincts are screaming yes. But this isn't about just me. This is about our family. And this is not the sort of decision we can make just on a whim. So we're gathering our information, trying to decide if the pros outweigh the cons. We don't know what's going to happen. We probably won't know for a few weeks at the very least.
And the not knowing is tearing me apart.
The longer I stay in the UK, the harder it will be for me to return to the US. The country will have moved on. The references I don't get here will be replaced by references I don't get over there. I'm not going to fit in, in either country. And that's actually just as terrifying as anything else.
This, combined with the lack of control I had over my kids' illnesses over the past couple weeks, is making me burn out. My head feels too heavy for its body, because there's so much crap roiling around inside it. And it's taking its toll on my writing. I've written and rewritten the first half of chapter 27 of Voices three times now and been unhappy with each and every version. I know what needs to happen in this chapter. I can see it in my head. But words are failing me. And that's terrifying.
Thank you for listening to me. I think what I need right now is a serious crying jag, kind of like Holly Hunter in "Broadcast News". Maybe getting rid of some of the tears will lessen the weight inside my head.