There's a chipmunk that just ran across the roof. I snuck up here to warm up in the Indian winter sun while our clothes dry. I have traffic noise on my right and the smell of lentils and other yummies cooking downstairs.
And I'm homesick.
Well, not really homesick, because I'm still not sure where home really is right now, but definitely have that "I wanna be back" feeling and really not looking forward to schlepping big heavy bags and being folded into origami for a crazy long flight back.
I'm tired. I'm tired of packing and unpacking our house and of putting myself out there to find new friends. I'm tired of not knowing where the things I want are in the grocery store, sometimes not even knowing if the things I want are in the country much less the grocery store.
I miss my family. They're scattered all over, so even if I stop moving or move closer to one that doesn't bring the rest of them any closer.
Sometimes there's a lot to be said for putting down roots.
In another 5 minutes I'll go downstairs and be utterly captivated by something again. This momentary sigh will be eclipsed by a squeal of excitement. But sometimes in the depth of the night, sometimes in the middle of the afternoon, sometimes I wish my life was a little less interesting.