growl

(I know this blog has turned a little weepy of late. But, I'm a little weepy of late. I'm sure it's temporary. But, consider yourselves duly warned.)

Wow, am I in a foul mood. And, this is after a great week back at school. All of my six-year-olds (nice kiddos, but they're all in first grade in their new schools) have left. I added a lovely new girl from the US. Suddenly my class feels like second grade. Everyone is quietly busy and happy. Everyone is working independently. Everyone is speaking and reading and writing in English. I had a lovely week. Monday was so quietly productive that I attributed it to jet lag. But it lasted all week! Fantastic!

But somehow not knowing about that show (glad to hear I didn't miss much, Jessica) really set me off. It just made me want to be home--amongst all that is familiar. I want to know what's playing. I want theatre. I want my theatre friends and busy, simple life. It made me want the anticipation of auditions the joys and devastation of casting, the chance to be someone else, the magic and the immersion of theatre and the friends that shared it. It conjured up a whole life I left behind--and a place that I want to return to someday. It socked me in the gut. It made me wonder (along with recent caseworker unpleasantness and then silence and requests for my million and fourth hs--this time by the city here) if I heard wrong. If I was called to pursue adoption and not actually adopt. Maybe the pursuit was the end unto itself. Pursuing adoption allowed me to meet people,both irl and virtually, and do things I wouldn't otherwise. Pursuing adoption placed me differently...maybe I've done all that I was meant to do.

I have been able to see myself--clearly see, like a vision almost--in certain situations: married to specific men, with F playing on her bed...and those situations did not happen. I was so convinced, because I could SEE them, that they must be a glimpse into THE PLAN. They weren't. And because I believed them, I think I was more hurt when they didn't happen. I thought I had reassurances that things were going to happen "x" way. And they didn't. Repeatedly.

And, I have NOT been able to see myself in situations that did come to pass. I wondered, because I couldn't SEE myself living a life after high school (warning: dramatic teenager thought process revelation), if I was actually going to live past graduation. I had some dreams and aspirations. I knew what I wanted. But I couldn't SEE it. And, umm...I have lived quite a while since high school. Quite a LONG while. So even though I couldn't SEE it, it happened.

Right now (and this post has wandered off course from where I thought it was headed) I can't see an end to this. I can't see d2b home. I can't see anything in the future. I can't see where I'll be living or what I'll be doing or who will be beside me. Which I guess, in a perverse sort of way is a good thing.

I've spent most of my 30's waiting. I went to drama school and then I waited for acting jobs. (I got them, but there is a LOT of waiting between them.) I waited to get married. (Yeah--nothing there yet.) I started feeling tugged to adoption--like the Pevensies and Eustace are tugged into the picture of the Dawn Treader--and so I waited to be out of debt and job-secure to start. I started adopting and I waited. I waited for paperwork. I waited for my agency. I waited for accreditation. I was told I was registered and waiting. I was told I was not registered. I'm still waiting. I'm SICK of waiting! How is it possible to spend a decade WAITING??

Right now, at the moment I'm writing this, I just want to stop waiting and go home. But I don't know where that is. I came to the conclusion a while back that for me home is not a place. Home is people. But I don't have my people yet. I don't know where they are. So I don't know how to go home. Friends, good, good, GOOD friends are scattered all across the country. I would love to be near all of them, to live right in the middle of a happly little version of Wisteria Lane with my friends all in surrounding houses. But that's not possible. And, while they are my modern singleton family, and they are both loved and loving, they aren't quite home.

Going back doesn't seem like an option. Where would "back" be? The lives that I had and loved that were great in my 20's (teaching and acting and dancing and directing and dreaming...with lots of good friends and a good church and lots of travel...) and my early 30's (acting and working at the museum really were fantasticly fulfilling in both an artistic and an I DID IT way) are like the clothes that I wore then. I still have some of them. CUTE, trendy little clothes. I love them. The colors are great, the styles are fun...but they don't fit anymore. They're too small. I can't wear them now.

And, quite frankly, with the incoming administration I'm not sure I'll recognize my country when I do come back. I fear it will be much like living in England or Russia. One thing I've learned, I'm not a socialist. Those countries are nice to visit, but they aren't my home.

So if I don't have old lives to go home to and I don't have my people, what do I do?

I'm weary. I can't see what's next. I can't see where or who home is.

So. I guess I wait. I wait for my paperwork to arrive from Moscow. I wait to schedule an appointment. I wait for the million and fourth hs. I wait for registration and internal investigations to clear and for common sense to appear to the nonsensical. I wait for d2b to come home.

I just don't like it very much.