It's a strange feeling.
All my worldy goods are packed and put away
in store rooms
across five cities in three continents.
In the last seven years I have moved house,
and life, about five times.
I am tired.
I feel like going home.
I miss the plain placid peace of those days at "home",
a city, a house, a room, and some people, I havent lived at,
or with, for more than a few months at stretch for the last decade or more
or ever, for the people.
I've scratched my seven year itch,
and I'm done.
I want to go back to the mindless job, the