Conversing with Myself

After over a month, what can one say?

"A month has passed? Where have I been?"

Well, Mr. Elling, let's see:

You lived with your cousins as they prepared to leave for their cross-country photographic journey. Kari Ann, who for so long had been so far, graciously agreed to share house-sitting duties in their absence. The standard American kitchen became a familiar and welcome change; your bread baking madness was met with the same loving aversion as too much ripe zucchini or fruitcake. As if the ease of a conventional convection oven wasn't enough to satisfy your carbohydrate cravings, you decided to try homebrewing. And what do you have to show for it? A plastic jug slowly passing CO2? Uncomfortable and awkward moments were spent at a large church, though each subsequent entrance became a little easier. You've seen concerts in Seattle and hiked in the Olympic National Park. Something like running was attempted, beginning and ending prematurely. You've eaten Mexican, Thai, and microwaved food, drank beer both good and bad. You've called friends and family, mostly forgetting how to write. A position with the Y maintenance crew was offered and accepted, you learned how to correctly anesthetize the pool, and became acquainted with a number of interesting and dedicated people in the process.

"Sounds good. But...?"

Ah, what have we missed?

Mr. Elling, one can hardly see where they are having forgotten where they have been. While a certain degree of forgetfulness must, in your case, be allowed, there is a reasonable point where it must end. Rare are the moments when thoughts of the past two years enter your mind; perhaps the suddenness of your assimilation to the US is partly to blame, but then would not a conscious effort to remember seem appropriate? Your journal, both public and private, which was maintained with relative diligence throughout your service has seen a precipitous decline in use. Does the absence of internal reflection choke the drive to write, or is it the other way around? And what about this peculiar aversion to sharing your time abroad with those here now? Why do you tense up, assuming a sarcastic and critical air, whenever someone expresses interest in your service? Is that a valid response, regardless of the sincerity of the inquiry? While you have managed to find time in your busy schedule to contact some people, what of those who remain on the list? When will you reopen the lines of communication there?

"It looks like some things need to change."

You may become a detective yet, Elling. Once again you've been handed a mixed bag; how then will you sort things out?