I know this much is true. I was never a nomad in a previous life. Or if I was, I was the slow one that probably got left by the herd for asking, "Are we there yet?" too many times.
These past two and a half weeks, I have lived the life of a nomad. I went from packing up in one apartment to unloading everything in another to then packing up portions of those things to live somewhere temporarily for a week. It's dizzying to think how many times I have trekked across this city and back over the past week alone. Do not mistake me: I have loved my time staying at my friend Karen's beautiful (air conditioned) house, but I am ready to go home. The thing is after so many moves over so many weeks, I feel as if my sense of home is lost.
Yes, tomorrow I will return to the city to my new apartment. Unfortunatley with the two days of unbearable heat I have spent there thus far, I think I have been conditioned to hate it. It's like Pavlov's dog. Subtract the bell for the sight of unpacked boxes and instead of salavating, I'd cry upon seeing them. I associate my apartment with pain, work and illness right now. It's not exactly the vibe I need to come home to. But once I lock Karen's front door on my way out tomorrow morning it's all I've got. That is my home. No more stops in between.
The bright side to this is the sooner I return the sooner I might be able to get a good night's sleep. That's the other thing. It's hard to feel rested when nowhere feels like home. You know how you never get as good a night's sleep in someone else's bed? Well I have spent no quality time with my bed since July 29th (a few days before my move). It's been in transition as much as I have.
All this means is it is finally time to get back to the business of reassembling my life. It is time to dig in, unpack all my boxes and do my best to relax in my new place. And if I can relax, I just might get a good night's sleep and then I'd finally feel at home. Dorothy did say it best: "There's no place like home." I bet even the Nomads would agree with that.