Just like that, I am drowning in discontent. I can be staring out at the ocean from my backyard, watching the sun glisten blinding me with it’s reflection on the water- and in the next second, I feel my skin grow hot and irritated by the hair that sticks to the sweat on the back of my neck. I frustrated by the sand in the house and sick of waiting for the temperature to cool. Can it be winter here yet?
I have to go. I tell myself this more than seems appropriate when living in other people’s paradise. I did not foresee the struggle I would put up against myself after I had moved here. I don’t know if it will ever go away, don’t know if it needs to go away- could my enjoyment or at least positive toleration of this place eclipse the waiting room feeling I have in the pit of my stomach?
I know months from now I will be somewhere different with a different view from a different back porch and I’ll have a new list of things to complain by, to explain why I cannot fully be happy or fully give in to a life of painful simplicity. I suppose amidst all of this unnecessary whining and lack of adaptation, I can at least go to sleep feeling safe- feeling wanted, here.