My most dreaded aspect of traveling is the return to normalcy. Most people return from a great vacation relaxed and renewed. They sustain themselves with light memories and peaceful simplicity. I mourn the loss of the experience, and long for a geography that does not resemble my own.

I’ve tried unsuccessfully to relocate for a decade (this contributes to my feeling of impending failure). The abbreviated version of my inability to escape is best summed up by saying, I fell in love, and placed someone else’s needs before my own. By doing so, I wonder if I have forfeited my needs being a priority. At the time of union, leaving was a shared goal, then life happened.

Today, I have difficulty believing we share the dream of permanent migration. I fear it is only my desire now. I can live with it, but I resent what I suspect is my mate’s inability to admit the truth, that we are stuck here and this is where he wants to be (this is my suspicion of the truth, I don’t know what he really feels, but I ask). He doesn’t want to disappoint me, so each passing day leaves me wondering if he’s stringing me along, thinking it more humane than out right acknowledgment.

I’ve post-poned writing for days. I resent the negativity poisoning my organs like bile and radiating from my pores. I detest this desire to complain. It feels self-indulgent and weak. I recognize how quickly I increase momentum when I indulge this way of thinking. It prematurely escalates into the “why me” thought process, which I do not believe in, as a matter of principle. “Shit Happens”, on the other hand, is a relevant school of thought.

It’s selfish, but I need something to look forward to, something that brings hope. When I think this way, I worry that my attitude reflects a spoiled, petulant child. This spoiled child has waited patiently through all the reasons we could not relocate, yet. All his kid’s baggage, the graduations, the marriages, the divorces, the optimum sellers market. I’ve helped install, crown molding, painted interior and exterior, pressure washed driveways, resealed decks, landscaped, installed lighting and rewired every f*cking outlet and light switch in this house. My stamina is in decline.

I feel bitter that I can’t ask for what I need, because my partner is subjected to both my needs and his family’s. I would never force him to choose, but I wonder when or if it will ever be okay to ask for or demand what I need? Does exhaustion lead to martyrdom? Why should I try to do the right thing if others aren’t willing? Why is the sky blue?