I'm really tired. Tired in the sense that I've not been sleeping because I'm that tired. Tired of this place, tired of the heat, tired of people, tired of things taking twice as long as they should. Tired of working, tired of studying, and tired with tiredness making everything seem, well, tired. In fact, apart from the moon, there are not many things that I am not tired of. Maybe the piano...I never tire of the piano. Oh and God, but that's a-given.
Perhaps it's because I set high expectations of myself and then, as a result, I have to break myself a little bit to meet that expectation. My "holiday" that's coming up, the 25 days I have in England, consists of 10 days of "holiday", the first and last 5 days, (which, as a bonus, are both centered around cricket). The rest, 15 days, I will be studying my arse off and then socialising with those I love so dearly on the island, as a reward for all the studying I've done. The carrot-on-a-stick method. The only way I function.
Recently, knowing that I'm going back for a bit has been what's kept me going. Returning to a place where my history is, where I can say things like, "Remember that time when..." and not be talking about last week - my heritage, as it were. I'm excited to be seeing the faces of the people that are in my scrapbook. The one I started when I was 16. To hear what they want to tell me, the selection of information that's accrued over the last 4-8 months, depending on when I last saw them. Oh and to see the new babies, who now aren't so new, and the new houses that have now been lived in for a year. Don't get me wrong. I love my life in Pescara but right now it's time to recharge my Englishness.
I forgot. Ice-cream. I'm not tired of ice-cream.