The last two weeks have been relatively tear free. I saw family, then spend 12 days confined to a small offshore oil rig. Today in the helicopter flight back to the city, I found myself holding back tears. The grey sea revealed while cresting waves. The misty air looks humid like summer time in the Gulf of Mexico. I thought about what to do with the rest of my day. I thought about the abound nothing waiting to welcome me “home”. Doha is cold this morning. After an hour in traffic, the driver let me off at my building. Twenty three floors high- my door lock blinks red, indicating an error with my key card. Twenty three floors down- I hold back tears and hand my card to the reception desk. The man nods and reprograms my card without even saying a word or asking me to remind him which room is mine. Walking back to the elevator, the tears start to flow.
I slide my sunglasses over my face and lean against the wall of the elevator the twenty three floors back up. I wonder out loud to the mirror- What am I doing to myself?
I hate this face- an uninspiring shade of sunken manila. I lift my shirt and look at my body- I hate this body. These are fleeting thoughts from the angsty teenager who pops into my mind just to check in and she’s gone again. I can’t hate myself for long. I’m healthy and really, I’m fine. I just wonder, as I watch my stomach shake from the sobbing- What am I dong to instigate the sobbing? Is it the key not working in the door?
It’s an obtrusive reminder that this is not my home. I don’t belong here and the key cark knows it so well, the receptionist even knows my face. Is it less about the symbolic mockery of a crappy technology and more about the fact that I can’t handle any more stress in my life? Is this why any extra curveball, no matter how small, feels like the end of the world?
I wonder if there is a link between the days- a delayed affect of my thoughts. Yesterday, I spend a considerable amount of time dreaming about being somewhere else. I looked up furniture I want to have, places I want to live, and their proximity to the activities I want to do. I thought about my hobbies, if I had the space to pursue them. I’d get an OC1 and take to the waters. After hours of picturing an alternative life- coming home to a malfunctioning lock just seemed like too much.
I’m living in two realities- on of metaphysical events, which I want to and know can be materialized; and another of the circumstantial events which are materialized, but not accepted by my perception. When the two collide, the results are devastating- knocking my marbles all over the place, shaking my body in heaves and sobs, sinking my face and eating my insides. It’s not even homesick. I’d describe the state of mind as anywhere-but-here-sick. Is this a metaphysical or actual place.
Where am I?
Music: Greatest Hits- Creedence Clearwater Revival; Ultimate Santana- Carlos Santana & Friends
Movies: I should probably watch Hook later today