The customs agents at LAX ain’t give a damn, they kept the line moving at a brisk trot. I was so tired that when the guy held up our passports like playing cards and said, “Quick! Where did you just come from?” I forgot. “The plane! No, Heathrow! Shit. Scotland? Where am I?” He waved us through.
Back home. Hello, cats. Hello, house. Hello, gnawing ball of anxiety that lives in my chest. I can’t sleep. Got up at 3am after lying in bed for a couple hours, made a cup of tea and went downstairs. Sat on my studio couch and started crying. I’m trying not to look too closely at why, just let it work itself out. Now I have a headache behind my eyes and still can’t sleep.
Going to look at my sloppy paintings, see what I can do with them, and think about what’s next.
Oh dear. I hope it's just post-traveling let-down. Or, one of those things.
ReplyDeleteYeah, all my problems were right here where I left them; dead-end job, working weekends, stagnant wages with increasing cost of living, no job opportunities or time/money to retrain, marriage counseling. I have agreed to give it until Leif graduates next May before blowing my life apart.
ReplyDelete