Countdown to Home

This page is a method of procrastination.


Today is 3 June, 2013. In 4 days I will be in Madrid, in 16 I will be on a plane, heading back to the United States for approximately 2 months.  This date has crept up on me much quicker than I thought it would, just a few days ago it felt like I had ages before I'd be flying 'home'.

The problem is, beyond deadlines and schoolwork stress, beyond missing the lifestyle and independence that I've gotten accustomed to being over here, I feel as though Pennsylvania 'home' isn't really home anymore. Don't get me wrong, I've missed my friends and family and I am really excited to see them all, but I feel like I'm leaving a pretty solid chunk of who I am here in Kilburn.

I've never thought I would take to city life. It's noisy (there are sirens flying down the High Road as I type, and I guarantee that around 12.30-1.00 the people downstairs will start their normal shuffling noises), it's dirty, there are weird people everywhere (some that want to just catcall at you, some which you avoid because you're 90% certain there's nobody home upstairs), and it's busy with the constant pushing of people trying to get places or tourists trying to block traffic.  My flat is small, it's not glamorous, the paint is peeling on one of the walls and during the fall/winter we had a bad case of mould because of the persistent cool and damp. There are four people and only one bathroom, no dishwasher, and the oven takes 20 minutes to preheat and has only one rack.

The thing is, I love it.  There's a wonderful feeling of anonymity that you get in a city, which I suppose could be daunting, but I love it. It has made it more difficult to meet people, I will grant that, but there's also a level of freedom associated with it.  I am responsible for only myself. I can come and go as I please, my days are mine to do what I will with them (right now, that means putting of the literal pile of books that I have to read, process, and write a literary review on to write a nonsense bit of blog post). I don't have people constantly checking up on me, I haven't spoken to my family in longer than is probably appropriate to admit.

I'm a little terrified of the culture shock of going home and being at the mercy of other people's schedules.  I'm not looking forward to living in a house where I will be questioned about what I have accomplished that day, or how my dissertation is coming along, or whatever.  I want to relax by the pool, visit museums, write, draw, do whatever and not be harassed.  It may be difficult to do that.

I'm also feeling crushed by the impending deadlines.  I have the literature review and detailed outline with sources due in a week (four of those days will be in Spain and will leave me accomplishing nothing), I have an interview with a museum tomorrow to gather research and a meeting with my advisor the day following.  I'm worried I won't have anything to report on since most of my research is stuck in the late 80s/early 90s. As it is, it's almost 11 pm over here and I'm starting to feel a little tired after a long day of reboxing people at the museum, and tomorrow is going to be early as well. And the day after. And the day after.... and the day after.

This post has lost its focus (not unlike its author), so perhaps it should be left at that. I'm sure once I start writing, life will be easier.  Until then, just keep swimming.