on crossroads and writer's block

This morning I moved out of the old law office for the second and, I think, the last time. I am starting to feel the weight of somebody who's lived long enough to collect A Few Too Many Books And Random Other Important Keepsakes That Represent Significant Life Experiences But Have No Place to Go (AFTMBAROIKTRSLEBHNPG).

Yeah. I can't even fit the acronym, much less the Random Important Keepsakes.

"Next" is roughly defined, at this point, as "find a job . . . and don't lose touch with Arabic." I have applied to a few jobs I would really like to get, and am still on the lookout for others. A couple of the desirable prospects are open positions that don't close until set dates in October. So it may be a while of waiting before I hear back.

Nearly every day I miss Amman. But I'm not sure exactly what I'm missing. Part of it is probably having free reign of my own apartment (I loved the kitchen). Part of it is probably the excellent classes and professors that we had. Part of it is probably the daily challenge of studying and functioning in Arabic. Part of it is probably being constantly challenged by the "otherness" of a foreign culture. And I also miss being Amber's other mother.

That to say that I have come home and, for the first time, not felt quite at home.

And, for some odd reason, I'm confused but happy about it.