For some unforeseen reason, this trip has left me with a very fresh sense of loneliness. Normally I'm wrought with loneliness on my first few days - usually chalked up to being hungry and incredibly sleepy. But this time it isn't like that. I actually haven't felt that way at all - even during the traditional first few nights. Maybe it's because I'm expecting to be gone for so long. I'd just sort of gotten over it since I knew it was something I was going to need to be accustomed to for awhile. And I expected it. But I've never felt this way before.
I don't even know if I would call it loneliness. It's just a constant state of awareness that I am completely and entirely alone. (I feel like there's a significant difference between those two.) Even going by myself to Alderwood Mall sounds better right now that going to the South of France. It's not necessarily about familiarity, either, as I've been to Nice and was rushed into figuring it out, so Toronto would be more threatening than the Mediterranean.
I think the big issue here is that I know what I'm going back to, and it's not the same. Normally, my options were Vacation or Work. Now that is not the case. I've given myself the opportunity to spend all my time with my dog, at Starbucks, and writing, and that's what I want to do with my life, so now that I have that opportunity, I don't want to be in the suburbs of Dublin, or fluttering around in Italy trying to communicate with strangers.
It just seems silly to me that I've created my ideal life, and now I'm running from it.