I’m sitting in my parents kitchen, drinking tea from an unfamiliar mug.
It’s comfortable, yet strange to be here.
And that’s why I came back.
I wanted distance. Perspective. A new view of the life I have built.
Because The Itch is back
I know it as a feeling of discontent.
I’m itching for change.
Clenched teeth, stiff neck, curled fists. The need to lash out and make make something – anything – happen.
It’s a form of hypomania.
Not the fast, happy, isn’t-life-amazing high you might think of.
Instead, I have a real sense of disconnect.
I’m moving too fast, wanting too much. Or more accurately, I want things at the right speed – but the universe is slow in making things happen.
That’s why I’m here.
I’m showing myself how much things have changed.
I’m examining the speed of my own progress. Trying to remind myself that fast doesn’t mean durable, desirable or great. And most importantly fast isn’t permanent.
Fast is just fast.
This does little to soothe the itch.
But it does mean I’m less likely to act without thinking things through.