Sometimes I'll be walking down the street in Roxby, and I'll find myself missing the steep streets of San Francisco. I go out to lunch with the girls, and all I want is a salad with blue cheese dressing. I even miss the ads on US television.
My house these days is a love letter to the US. I bought a huge mounted poster of the Dali painting I fell in love with the SF. My cats lounge against a stuffed manatee doll. Bands that haven't hit Australia live on my stereo, and make me so very very happy. A family of snowdomes (Holding the Golden Gate Bridge, New York, and Snooty) beg to be tipped upside-down and the windchimes I bought dance for me all the time. The dream-catcher I grabbed has done it's job perfectly, and I have had no bad dreams since I hung it on my wall.
But I long to be back. Being myself with no one knowing me or caring who I was. Having the strength to talk to complete strangers on planes, or standing in lines at DisneyLand. I used to get so excited going into supermarkets for everyday items, because I was buying something I had only ever seen in a movie before. (Seriously, no one should get that excited buying NyQuill). I wish I had more gypsy blood in me. I wish I had the guts to quit my job and pack up my house and just go back.