Estoy pensando sobre muchas cosas...

I am thinking about lots of things...

Two weeks now. That's how long I've been back in the U.S. I've driven a car, seen a movie, eaten lobster, thrown toilet paper in the toilet again, shopped in a huge grocery store, walked in high heels all day, moved all my belongings (again!), gotten a little drunk with my friends and family, told my Peace Corps story more times than I can count, hidden from my Peace Corps recruiter who I saw on the subway because I couldn't deal with having to tell her the story that day, looked for jobs, and written a long email in what I'm sure is rapidly failing Spanish to my host family in Ita. I think the most difficult of that list has been the high heels. En serio.

Life feels really normal. Too normal? I'm not sure. I'm a little worried that if I don't pay attention, I won't have learned anything from this experience, and instead, I'll just have "spent 3 months in Paraguay one time." I am honing how I answer the question about why I'm home. It's coming a little bit easier on the tongue each time I say it. I still struggle with the quitting. I know, I know, everyone keeps telling me that I tried, I didn't quit. And that's true. But it's also true that I quit. I guess I can live with it at the moment because I didn't know. I didn't know that the timing would be so off and I didn't know that I would hate being an island. That's informing me as I do this job search. I know I need colleagues and comrades, especially if I'm going to do a job that's challenging or difficult, like the ones I've interviewed for so far.

Today, I drove for the first time past the Jamaica Plain pond in Boston. I love that place. It gives me peace and solace. I can walk the path around the pond and think. And I also walked through JP today, down Centre Street. There were people pushing baby carriages, and a whole line of people sitting on the bright red bench outside of Emack & Bolios eating ice cream. It was about 82 degrees out today and the sun was shining. I went into Boomerang's, the awesome thrift store (all the money goes to AIDS Action), and they had added an extra room in the time I'd been gone. I walked down to the Centre Street Cafe and got an application to work there. I think I may be waitressing for a while until I find a job. I've always loved waitressing. I love the people, and serving them and giving them a good meal and a good experience. I think going out to eat is one of the great pleasures in life and I love to enable other people to have that, too.

After that, I walked back to the car, and a woman outside the real estate office asked if I wanted a Deval Patrick lawn sign (he's running for Governor of Massachusetts and the primary elections are Tuesday). I told her no, thanks, but that I was voting for Patrick...she smiled and waved and said "Thanks!" It felt good, the simplicity and the basic-ness of the interaction.

I miss speaking Spanish. I'm acutely aware of it every day and even more aware that I'm losing more and more each day that passes and that I'm not doing anything about it. My schedule has been so up in the air that I haven't bothered to connect with my mother's three Spanish-speaking friends. I've unpacked, so I know where my Spanish books are and I could be using them right now instead of writing this with "Cliffhanger" with Sylvester Stallone On-Demand in the background. But I'm not. What's that about? Is it hopelessness? That I won't be able to learn as much as I did there? That I will never be totally fluent? Or am I avoiding it for another reason? I have no idea yet. One of the jobs I'm currently intervieiwing for would allow me to use Spanish, which would give me a kick in the ass...

I sat in the backyard today, of my home. The one I lived in for a year before I left for Paraguay and the one in which I live now, again. I swung on the swing and read an Entertainment Weekly. I listened to the squirrels eating and throwing the acorns down with a rapidness that surprised me. I talked with my roommate and together we tried to get a splinter out of her finger. Then I cooked shrimp with zuchini and onions over penne pasta and sat at the table in the backyard and ate it slowly. And now, I write this from the livingroom couch, on my roommate's laptopthat she bought while I was gone on the wireless internet that she finally cracked and had installed in the apartment. I'm incredibly priveleged. I have everything I need and if I didn't, I know someone from whom I could borrow it. I need to spend more time reflecting on that.

This fall has a lot to offer, if I open my eyes, listen to the messages and let the universe interfere. I hope I have enough courage to do that. People think I'm brave. First for going and then for coming home. I'm not. I'm practical. And self-serving. And family-oriented. Sure, I travel alone, and I take risks like other people change their clothes, but I don't think that makes me brave. A little crazy, maybe...but brave I'd argue with.

It's 11 p.m., Cliffhanger is almost over and I'm tired. I'll be back, though.