Homesick

Welp, it's been a week since I arrived in Milwaukee, almost to the minute. And while this week has been much easier than almost any week last semester, I am finding myself quite homesick tonight. I think it's the weekend blues. During the week I have plenty on my mind, plenty of things to do that keep me distracted. But the weekend hits and I have two (or in this case three) days of absolutely nothing except a little homework and some dish washing or something. It is then when I feel the emptiness in my stomach and the drive of tears pushing on my eyes. Every now and then I think about how many weeks it is until I get back home for sure. 15. 15 weeks. And while I know that in my heart of hearts I can make it, I just wish I could transport my way to finals week immediately. Then it's three and a half months of bliss. Granted, there are times where I feel incredibly confined at home and get sick of the constant tension between my parents. But I love my family more than I can express in words. Jordan is my very best friend and I miss her so much. I can control the tears until I begin to think of Jordan. And now they flow rather freely. I wish I was there to see her through high school. And isn't it convenient that her new favorite song just came on?

For the first time in my life, I'm actually crossing the days off on my calendar. It's kind of exciting to see the red Xs fill the page, slowly eliminating days until the month is over. Sometimes I even purposely wait a couple days just to amplify the satisfaction of adding more red.

I need a job. I need a job to fill the empty hours of the week. More importantly, I need a job to get me home for spring break. Because going home for spring break means that 15 is no longer significant. Because going home for spring break makes this a trillion times easier to bear.

Clarification: I am enjoying myself here. I have a good group of friends that I am slowly opening up to more and more. I love them. I like my classes. I think I found my major. And I'm pretty sure I'm staying here for next year.

But I love my family. I love Oregon. I love home. And I can still taste it. I only have a week's distance to separate me. It was like when I came here for the first time, I cut myself open and left it exposed. After about three months, it began to heal. When I came home for break, it was completed healed and I felt whole again. But it has been ripped open again, though less painfully than last time.

I know I can do this. And I know that I'll shake this feeling in the morning. This is a continual learning process, and I am ceaselessly learning who I truly am and what means most to me.