It’s been a slow few weeks. I’m not doing much, trying to save money, and I finally moved into a place where I have my own room. I still don’t have heat (which, let’s be honest – WTF), but I have my own room and that’s a step up.
The last few days have been kind of insane. I started my new job and I really like the people and I’ve been asked to help figure out how to improve things which is basically my favourite thing, but…I dunno. I think I came out here wanting a certain thing and it turns out I’m just living a similar life to the one I left behind but with fewer friends. Once I get a few paycheques under my belt and can plan some travel (Sydney! Dunedin! Queenstown!) I will feel a little better. The past few days, though? The past few days I wanted to pack it in and go home.
I rarely have homesickness like this, but man…I’ve got it bad. Normally when I get homesick I miss food or places or tiny little things. Not this time. This time it’s more like, “Well, this was dumb, Gundle.”
Because it turns out, that’s the weird thing about realising you have a home. You miss it. You miss the people and the comfort and all of it. I thought that if I couldn’t have Scotland, I could at least have adventure. But really, I think it’s more along the lines of “If I can’t have Scotland, I can still have home.” I keep hedging my bets, saying I’m 97% sure I’m coming home at the end of this, but actually? I’m 100% sure. Maybe 110%. Doing this shit on my own is exhausting and boring and lonely.
So yeah. I guess the decision is made. Charlotte…I think you’re home (at least for now).