17 days left

I'm terrified.

Sometimes when I wake up early in the mornings, I think I'm already back in the states feeling like I'm still in Guatemala, and I feel strange for knowing that the last major part of my life is only memories. Then I really wake up and realize I'm still here, and I realize how much I'm dreading losing the reality of it. I don't want for this whole time to only be memories and pictures and souvenirs. Doesn't it deserve more than that? I hate having an awareness of great moments in my life. I hate the awareness that everything's moving away from where I was last. I don't mind the moving, I mind the cognizance. I should probably be happy for it, since it gives me a vivid and long-reaching memory, but it gives me pain for the unavoidableness of "The End." Who doesn't feel that kind of force, though. It's like the universe is about to shift. It's not going to be until 17 days from now till I really know where and how I've changed, if it's for the better, if it's something I"ll need to recover from. The anticipation is killing me inside, and there's no way for me to differentiate between the hope and the dread. I don't have a life here. I could never stay, and I would never want to. I am in need of going home. I have to go home- an internal psychological obligation compels me. But I am not ready. What an escape from reality this has been, and face plant into the concrete it will be.

1. jobless
2. homeless
3. without the comfort or security of my life's savings
4. pursuing a profession that is all I want and next to impossible to attain
5. forgetful of american culture and unwilling (at this point) to re-assimilate
6. far away from hugh
7. worlds away from my home here

I have a home here.