As soon as I told her, she said she was coming back. My decision was thrown off once again. I can't stay for her, but at the back of my mind, I wonder if at least it would be bearable.
And bearable looks better on transcripts.
After I talked to Mom, in circles, as usual, I cried at Friday night television. The show, Scrubs, a comedy, portrayed a dying woman and the doctor who was upset and afraid for her to die. He made her a list of all the things that he wanted her to do before she died. She told him she'd done all of those and then told him to take some time for himself.
And that's when it hit me.
I want to come home.
I read all of my archives, of this blog and my others, and I realize that they convey a large sense of discomfort. And I am a natural complainer, but not usually about things like this. I feel like my own soul is begging to leave here, and my writing displays that.
So,
I know where I want to be, and I know where I should be, and those are two very different places.
I think that I will know as soon as I have seen Denver once again.
I'm leaving for Oregon on Wednesday, and until then, I am focusing on staying the course. I asked Danny, just as I asked Mom, and he told me that whatever choice I made was the right choice.
I almost want someone to tell me exactly what to do. But then again, it's not like I'd listen to them.
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