Okay, so here’s what’s happening.
My body did me so good for the past three months.
I never got sick through all of the hummus and pita, repelling off of waterfalls, smoking my first cigarette, jeeping through Jordan…the list goes on for 90 days. I made it through all of that without a sniffle and in the last couple of days I’ve officially crashed and burned.
Not a pity post.
The point of the above information is that last night I wrote a blog about how much I miss you guys; my family, lovees, hawkeyes, greenheart babes, and my new people here who I haven’t cafe’d with in a week because I’ve been in my bed. I wrote the post, some people read it, and it sounded really sad.
I’m not sad, I’m sick!
I’m sick and I wanted my big bed, own room, American chicken noodle soup (I tried to make my own here, it tasted like carrot water), and wrote a post about everything I’m realizing I’m really missing, which is all of you.
I wrote about how with you, my stone cold pack of weirdos, I have found people who are letting me be all the sides of me I always kept away, the sides I didn’t know existed, the sides that are ugly and weird and uncomfortable, and I get to be those sides and smile right now because you love me more for them.
I’m sick, I was listening to all of my sad, quiet music on iTunes, and I wrote a somber post.
In a couple of days I won’t be binge-watching Gilmore Girls in my bed (I’ll actually be bike riding through northern Israel stopping for wine and cheese along the way, for real) but I’ll still miss all of you.
Squeezes are coming, February 2016, and I can’t wait.