If you’re wondering where people go when they don’t update their blogs for a few days, it might be Kansas.
It might be to visit old friends. To stop and sit on a sofa, holding a fussy baby and wonder “Is this what is meant by vacation?” It might be that time you spend, stopping in the grocery store and think: “This is just like my grocery store back home. Only the people are nicer.”
It might be to rush hours over a road, along yellow lines, through second-crop cornfields, to see the sister they never see. It might be through fleeting moments, wondering if their husband is sorry he married you or if he really is happy he came here.
It might be to see old friends, and to be bored with them. To catch up on sleep.
It might be to buy postcards of empty fields, with windmills turning — the sort of windmills that worked years ago and still do — and send them to London, to people who aren’t tourists there.
It might be to just get away from the newness of home, to escape back to familiarity.
To the familiarity that isn’t mine anymore.
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