and then...

October 21st 2012  The W Hotel Seattle Washington USA (transcribed from hand written journal)

Sitting in my 4 start hotel room I am hit with an overwhelming longing for the farm.  The jungle surroundings call to me.  The heat, the bugs, the sweat.  I feel a sadness that I can't quite explain.  A missing of something I may have imagined.  A desire to connect with the environment around me.  To rely on each other with someone.  Though those descriptions aren't exactly right.  I miss.  I feel a need, a desire, a dream.  But I know that part of what I miss wasn't healthy, it wasn't even sane.  But the struggle, the fun, the excitement was always real. 

Recently I've been frustrated, or something, when others freak out about the things that were commonplace in Costa Rica.  Bugs being a huge trigger.  Fruit flies in wine or on food, flies in the house, ants on the counter.  Throwing out the wine because it had some bugs in it.  These are normal things here (in the US) to be upset about.  There the normal is to maybe get rid of some ants before eating the rest of them in your sugar.  Coco would sometimes put the sugar container close to the fire and they would leave the jar.  For a while. 

I've been here(back in Portland) for more than 4 months now and many of my memories are so clear, so burned into my mind.  At times I close my eyes and I'm still there.  Laying on the foam pad on the floor with windows of open holes and the rain pouring down at night. Last week I had a dream about my baby bun buns.  Last night it was Coco. He was telling me he had to do what was right for his daughter.  There are so any reasons we can't be together, but I miss him.  And I sit here looking around this nice hotel with two thoughts: 1. What would it be like to be here with him?  2. How totally unimpressed I am with the plush life at times. I do appreciate my hot showers every day and wonder if I can live again without hot water.  But I know the answer is yes.

This week my lives have been confronting each other.  A small desire to return to work.  A feeling I don't have enough talent, skill or tenacity to really be a painter. And my overwhelming urge to flee the country.  All umbrella-ed by the anxiety of the future.  I know I wouldn't be happy working in an office doing either mindless tasks or struggling to keep up.  40 hours a week with only 2 weeks vacation a year.  But the money would be nice for a while.  To save up.  maybe have an escape plan in place.  Somehow keep the house and rent it out.  I'm just so lost in my world.  Or maybe in the world.