I am on vacation. I hate it. I think I always hate vacation. But this time I am counting down the days left. I have 8 days left.
Some of the reasons I hate vacation:
– I am in Lebanon. Contrary to my estimation, based on my shared history with this country, I am actually indeed scared and all around uncomfortable being here. I feel too close to danger, lurking around any corner, unexpected. Maybe a kidnapping, a bomb, a little spat of gunfire. Every airplane, I look up – a Lebanese war copter? An Israeli fighter jet? Am I being sarcastic? Here is a picture of the bomb shelter I took refuge in as a child. Also the storage facility of the building’s gas supply. We used to worry that a shell which would otherwise would only leave a few harmed would instead ignite the gas supply and blow us all to pieces. Like literal pieces – another “body parts” incident on the news. The war memories are more painful now than they have ever been. Perhaps because this time, in a sense, it is on the brink or cusp of war, or at minimum chaos.
– I am unable to work. I feel lost. I need routine and safety to feel grounded. I have no desire to work. I cannot think. I feel like I should be having a good time. But a good time for me is working.
– I need to spend a lot of time with people. I need my space desparately.
– I miss my kids. What am I doing here?