Got back from Brazil on Sunday. Yes, Brazil. No, I didn’t write a damn thing while I was down there. Just a few scribbles in my journal. Just wasn’t feeling the blog thing. Needed a break from the constant contact. It was all about being away from clocks and computers. It was pure bliss waking up every morning and having absolutely no idea what day it was.
Re-entry has been strange and slow. Waking up has been easy. Going to sleep has been easy. I am writing this in the half dark of the early morning, a time sacred to me because of its REM potential. (Read: if you wake me up between the hours of 6 and 9 am and I forget my dreams, death will come to you). But this morning, and every one since Sunday, has been easy, even pleasurable, to ease into. It’s those hours in between the sleeping and the waking that are really hard to get used to again.
I went to the wrong client on Tuesday. Didn’t really check my calendar or email and just sort of trusted from memory and a scribble somewhere that I was supposed to be North first and South second. Turns out it was supposed to be the other way around. Lucky for me, my clients are forgiving.
I can’t get used to not having at least three different kinds of tropical fruit available to me at all times. Not having the blinding sun wake me up every morning or the sound of surf lull me to sleep. The air is cold here. I have to wear layers of clothing. It’s Christmastime, for God’s sake. People are shopping. Commercials come like machine gun fire. I can still feel the still, muggy air of the coast all around me. I can still smell the inside of the rental car, the hotel room, the smell that says “we do no live here; we need this to be clean and usable; we will make this space that smells unfamiliar and sterile our home and we will pine later on for the smell of our own kitchen, our own shampoo, our own bedsheets.”
My nails have grown. That always happens on vacation. I like that.
I remembered my dream this morning. Something about carpooling too many people in a big white SUV and having to leave some people behind. Arriving at an unfamiliar grammar school, Catholic. Girls locker room… not knowing my way around.
Because we watched so much (bad) TV in Brazil, I can’t really bring myself to turn ours on. Just listening to the radio is awesome.
Christmas is coming and I am feeling really torn up about it. That’s probably what’s making this re-entry doubly difficult. I saw my sister on the east coast during our three hour layover in Newark. It broke my heart a little. I had sworn off going back for Christmas because last year’s was so traumatic (that’ll be another post). And now I am feeling regret. I really want to see them all. I was feeling so brave in my stand against the drama-filled holiday. I’m not feeling so brave anymore. I miss them. Drama and all. I miss the joy of the season, which I know lives in them. I miss the effort, which, at least for my sister, is there. Of course there will be drama. It’s not going to ruin my life, right? I’ve lived through the other 364 days of denial, drinking, neglect, and hazard. What’s one more day? It’s just a day, right? Just one day. Why is it packed with so much expectation? Of COURSE it’s going to be traumatic. It’s a holiday with a dysfunctional family, for Chrissake. What do I expect? Couldn’t I have sucked it up for one more year and bought the outrageously expensive ticket and been with them for 48 hours? There is limited time on this earth to make amends with them. I feel like i have surrendered an opportunity just to prove I can. It doesn’t feel very good. I want to be redeemed. I want it to go poorly. I want someone to injure themselves just so I can say I told ya so. It’s not going to happen. I’ve got plans to stay here for Christmas with friends. I have faith it will be great. But I’m going to be thinking about them the whole time.
Detaching. Re-entering. Welcome, December.