Homeward Bound
Another taxi character of London escorted us to the Piccadilly station. This trip on the underground would be easier than the first since we didn’t have to change trains.
"Came to steal the Crown Jewels I see," the driver commented on our heavy luggage.
"Yes," I replied "but I can trust you not to tell anyone, right?"
The flight home was not as enjoyable as the flight out as you could imagine. Our spirits were a bit low and adding to this was the fact that the entertainment system kept crashing. So no movies or music for a good chunk of the flight. I drank a few little bottles of Jack Daniels, a little wine and listened to my Sandy Lopicic Orkestar CD.
At various points in the trip, I found myself crying. I felt that same old depression I was escaping sneaking back in to taunt me. I was going home. More like I was going to the place I call home. I know that moving is not an immediate option for me.
I’ve been offered an apartment in Graz whose affordabilty is borderline ludicrous. I’m juts not ready to move just yet. Packing up a life in order to change every single aspect about it is a lot of work. The trick for me right now will be to employ some of the lesson learned on this trip to steer myself in the right direction. Thereby making the time of the move easier when it comes.
And finally the captain announces, "Ladies and gentleman. It is Tuesday, it is 5:00 and it is Newark." And that about sums it up.
 July 2003 |
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