Yesterday, for the first time in the ten months I’ve been living in America, I felt homesick.
Of course I think of home, and my friends and family, all the time, but never before in a I-wish-I-was-there-so-bad-I-could-punch-someone kinda way. Maybe it’s because my mother came to stay last month, or because I know I’m going home at Christmas. I’m not sure. But yesterday, there was a surprise party to celebrate one of my Very Best Friends turning 30 and I was the only one not there. To add insult to injury, this particular friend really doesn’t do surprises. Oh, to have seen her face. And photographed it.
They called me from the pub and tagged me on Facebook and emailed a picture, but it really wasn’t the same. I sat on the couch watching the clock, calculating the time difference and wondering what mischief they were making while I tried to concentrate on Things To Do in Denver When You’re Dead.
Oh well. They all have hangovers today and I don’t. That’s fair, right?