Sitting in a theatre agency in Berlin, Germany, putting together excerpted reviews for press releases, I feel divided/conflicted/nervous/ill at ease/an entire sea of similar discriptive emotions about my experiences this past month. I left home at a surprisingly inconvenient time, just as conflicts were being addressed, new possibilities raised their heads and old relationships seemed finally laid to rest. I have only the slightest clue as to what it will be like to return home, and I'm not sure that I'm excited by it. I'm worried as to how I will fit back into my life, and concerned that rejection and disapointment will be inescapable. These past two weeks, particularly have given me ample oppurtunity to set myself up for these feelings, and I'm kicking myself for it. While the start of the tour was dazzling and vibrant and full of new people, I've found myself settling into an all-to-familiar domesticity that I had taken this trip to escape from in part. Within that, of course, I'm rediscovering dusty and forgotten parts of myself that I didn't know I missed. For this, I am thankful, and perhaps cannot explain the importance or personal significance of hours lost in a library, or the thrill of exploring and discovering the secrets of a city that may not excite anyone but myself.

I'll be back at home on Sunday, and I'm on the fence as to if I want to burrow back into Olympia and that life, or if I would prefer to shake it off, uproot and start anew. At the moment, so far from everything, I am tempted by the latter. I just finished reading Paul Auster's City Of Glass and was struck by how beautiful an oppurtunity it presents for shaking off the vestiges of your history and escaping life. I know I have a bad habit of blinding optimism in my interpretations, but I thought it showed less of a pitiful fall from grace and more of a rebirth. I might be a little starried- eyed from all those library hours.