At my send-off party back in last December, my friends and I put our money down in Brower’s and made a bet on when I’d come back to Seattle again. (People do funny things under the influence of alcohol. :) ) Some said two years, some said two months. I said a year knowing I’d at least make sure that my company is paying for all expense for me to move out here. On some days, I think a year is just fine but then on some other days like today, even two months felt too long.
Not that I’m not having fun in DC. I’m meeting really nice people, having fun. Today, went furniture shopping at IKEA. I finally got a new dining table/desk that I’m very satisfied with. I can work properly on a desk again! At night, I went ballroom dancing at Dance Factory. It was great; I pretty much danced every single song until my feet were about to burst out of my dance shoes. I should be happy right? I think I should. But I’m not. Why is it that I feel even more empty at the end of a long fun day? Is it because I have no one to share that great time with? Or it’s because I hadn’t felt a deep connection with anyone? Perhaps I’m too hasty to become acclimated to this new place. Or perhaps I don’t really belong here.
On days like these, I listen to the down beat songs that Cherie gave me. I just want to curl up and cry myself to sleep. In my dreams, my heart would fly high up with my blue seagull kite, trailing with two long tails, wondering in the wind atop the green hills of Gas Works Park. I long to sit amidst my friends again.