I am feeling the stress of homelessness. A rather cushy homelessness, as we have been graciously hosted by many wonderful and hospitable friends but stressful nonetheless. It's hard to be me without my own space and I find it even harder to be a good partner without space for intimacy.
The period of limbo between adventures is quickly closing and I couldn't be happier about it. I have too much time to think about the things I can't accomplish and not enough time to do anything other than what is planned.
I am feeling the pull of my heartstrings, to remain in one place and be quietly in love with all these humans who care for me. I made the choice, though, to leave again. To be constantly leaving and always returning, so that no one even says "Bon Voyage" anymore and celebratory events are pointless. It's hard not to feel the fibres of my friendships strained and fraying.
I miss all the passing moments, the being together without speaking that glues together conversations and experiences. I miss my friends already, again.