I’ve never really been hit by homesickness before. Even when I moved away as a just-eighteen year old to Southampton, I occasionally missed home, but never felt so cruddy that I couldn’t do anything, which is why it was a bit of a shock to find that exact feeling hanging around three days ago.
It first struck maybe two weeks ago (as I type this, I’ve been here for a solid 3 and a half weeks). I’m not sure what happened, but all of a sudden I just
wanted needed my little single bed back at home in the UK. Not my brand new plush queen. Nope. Nadda. It was fleeting, but I just went to bed, had a little think, felt sad for a few minutes, and then had a quick pull myself together talk. Then I went to sleep. I woke up the next morning and I was fine. A little 10 minute wobble, right?
Friday’s bout (it’s now Sunday night) was a bit weirder. It started in Symphony Band that afternoon. One of the pieces we’re playing (Dusk by Stephen Bryant) reminds the conductor of his hometown, the sunset over Lake Michigan, and he was talking about it all. And all of a sudden I was sat there thinking “I want to go home, watch the sunset over the waterfront from my hometown” and it all spiraled from there.
I managed to get myself to the gym, but neither my heart or head were really in it, so it was a short lived 30 minute experience. Topped off by my housemates being away for the weekend, I cut a pretty lonely figure and decided that the obvious thing to do was take a nice, hot shower, snuggle into my pjs and watch endless episodes of Gilmore Girls online. With tea. Obviously. Even though I’d been invited to a party…
But it was clearly what I needed. I woke up the next morning with a clear head and a fresh perspective. Practicing my saxophone was easier, exercise was easier, so maybe I needed that big old wobble to keep me going…