“next year is going to be all about me… me, me, me!”
stockholm, the day after my father passed away. i’m sitting in a taxi with a person who has just told me this will need to take time. i will have to learn to cope with my new reality, learn to make my own decisions, without always taking my father’s illness into account. but it will take time and i must let it take that time.
i had been going on about how much i really didn’t want to go home, hoping for even one reason for me to fly off somewhere else. anywhere. no response. needless to say, i found this “it must take time”-thing a bit irritating and like a child i finished the conversation by stating fine, i’ll do it, but next year…
i realized the other day that everything is coming to an end now. in a week the estate inventory is finally over (bureaucracy at its best). in less than a month my last international weekend and independence day ball are over. in little more than a month the year is over. 2011 is just around the corner, and except for being a bride’s maid in january, there’s nothing i have to do. not a thing. nada. zip.
in my mind i have already given notice, sold my car, emptied my apartment and booked a one-way ticket. in reality i have so far lacked the guts. i’ve always been a dreamer hated being confronted by reality.
after two nights of insomnia this day hasn’t really been one of the best and i had already given up hope that something significant would happen when one customer decided to ask straight up “don’t you ever get tired of this place?”… as usual i tried to dodge by laughing something about a beach bar at the seychelles but she wouldn’t have it. quite directly she told me to just go. just do it. “if there’s nothing keeping you here, why stay? seriously. why stay?”
* carl sandburg